Baby, it's cold outside
by teacandles
Summary: Say, what's in this drink? Fill for a prompt on LJ's glee angst meme. Warning for date rape.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Another fill for a prompt on the LJ glee_angst_meme. No one had taken it, and as much as I'm fond of Blaine, I wanted to read something like this, so here we go. Beware, my chapters are pretty short for this as it's easier to post that way on LJ. Enjoy.

_Edit (12/16/2010): If you haven't bothered to read this (because you skip author's note or whatever), then please don't complain later on about wanting a sweet story. It's not. It's for an **angst meme**. Angst is what I seem to write best. Just look at my other stories. I haven't put warnings on this because it kind of ruins the effect I establish with the first couple of chapters. If you want to read the prompt to see **exactly** what you're in for (and yes, I mean exactly because I follow this prompt pretty closely), please visit here (without the adjustments to make the URL appear on this site): _ht tp:(double backslash) community. livejournal. com (backslash) glee_angst_meme (backslash) 4263. html? thread (equals) 5656231 (number sign) t5656231 _You can also read the unedited version of it there as this was originally a comment fic, so you don't have to stay here if you want to read it; my username is the same thing there. Please don't complain to me here if you skipped this (unless, of course, you read this and complained before I posted this; then you're perfectly in the clear), and really don't bother complaining to me on LJ should you feel so inclined because the prompt was completely visible there the entire time, and I won't be as civil should you complain there, anonymously or not, as I would be on this site. Thanks!

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"Do you really have to go tonight?"

"Yes, Blaine. I promised my dad I'd be there tonight." Kurt turned to the neatly folded jacket sitting on his bed and placed it inside his bag with his other uniforms. He wouldn't be wearing them over the break, of course. No, he was in desperate need of something other than black, red and grey, thank you very much. His uniforms could do with a good dry cleaning, though, so better safe than sorry.

"But it's really starting to come down out there." Blaine gestured out the window of Kurt's room where fat, white flakes were lazily drifting past, adding to the dusting of snow already on the ground.

Kurt sighed and stared for a moment at the wispy patterns of frost creeping up the window pane before looking back at his boyfriend seated on the bed across from him. Kurt's roommate had already left for the break, his mother having come and picked him up the day before. Kurt liked Elliot, but with him gone, he had more time to spend alone with Blaine, a definite plus. He just didn't see why Blaine was pushing this now.

"That's exactly why I need to get my fabulous self gone before it gets too dark to see anything."

"And before it gets too cold."

"And before it gets too cold," Kurt agreed. He'd never been fond of the cold, and snow was a particular nuisance that was hard to escape in Ohio. Snow was pretty, sure, when left completely untouched, but other than that it was useless. It was cold; it was wet, and it had a nasty habit of ruining both cars and clothes, two things Kurt held very dear to his heart. He zipped his bag tight and sauntered over to his desk, looking for his keys and phone. No messages or missed calls, but the battery was a little low. His dad wouldn't be happy about it, but as long as he was home in a timely manner everything should be okay.

He only registered Blaine's presence as he came up behind him and wrapped his arms neatly about Kurt's waist, his chin resting heavily on Kurt's shoulder. "I wish you weren't in such a hurry." He planted a soft kiss on the side of Kurt's neck and sighed. "Are you sure you can't put it off for one night?"

"Yes, I'm sure. My dad will wear a groove in the floor if I'm not home in a decent amount of time. I've already called to let him know I'm on my way and if I'm late, he'll probably think the worst." He turned his gaze back to the snowy scene in the window, his eyes growing distant. "Besides, Finn and Carole are waiting for me too. We're supposed to have dinner all together as a family tonight. Carole sounded really excited about it on the phone. She even roped my dad into healthy food this time." He smile and leaned back into Blaine's embrace before pulling away and pocketing his phone. "I really need to go, love. It's not like I'll be gone forever. And aren't you going home as well? I'm sure your parents are eager to see you."

Blaine edged away and plopped down onto the bed behind him with a dramatic sigh. "I suppose you're right." He grinned. "Christmas, Hanukkah, the holidays, whatever, being a time for family and all that, but I was hoping you could leave tomorrow with me so I won't have to spend this achingly cold night alone." He fell back in a swoon, the back of his hand smashed over his eyes. Silence settled over the room. Blaine lifted his hand ever so slightly to peek at Kurt with one eye. "Is it working? Have my powers of persuasion won you over yet?"

Kurt rolled his eyes with a soft sigh of amusement, the corners of his mouth turning up in a grin. "Nice try, prince charming, but it takes more than that to win over Kurt Hummel." He grabbed his bag from his bed and made his way over to Blaine before planting a soft kiss in the other boy's dark curls.

"I'll see you soon. It's not like we can't get together on one of the quieter days of the break. We both have vehicles, you know."

He started to pull away but Blaine grabbed his wrist and held him in place. "Can you at least stay for a drink? Like maybe some cider or something else festive-I know how you are about alcohol since the incident with your old guidance counselor, and you've got to drive anyway, so that's off-limits, but I've got a little sparkling cider in my room that Wes gave me before he booked it out of here. Can I treat you before you go? Please?"

Kurt looked at the window, at the snow picking up outside, and then back at his boyfriend who still had his wrist trapped in a gentle hold, pleading. He'd always liked Blaine's hands and the gentle contact was making him feel pleasantly warm.

"I suppose one drink couldn't hurt. Just so long as it's quick. Let me text Finn first-let him know that I'm running a little late." He whipped his phone out of his pocket and shot off a message to his stepbrother. He placed it gently on his bed. His dad could wait a few minutes. He'd understand. "I'll leave it here. Less chance of interruption," he said with a wink. "Lead the way, dear sir. Don't leave your lovely guest just standing here, not after you've so successfully persuaded him into staying a while longer." His eyes sparkled with mirth.

A wide smile spread over Blaine's face and stood to face Kurt, his hand still clasped about the other boy's wrist, before leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on Kurt's lips. He pressed their foreheads together. "You just can't say no to me, can you?" he chuckled.

"Not when you're like that, I can't," Kurt replied with a grin. "Sometimes you are too charming for your own good , Blaine Mitchell."

"I know," he said with one last fleeting peck. "But you love me anyway. C'mon. I promise I won't keep you too long." And with that, he pulled Kurt out the door and down the hall to the senior dorms.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: So I realized that I'm probably not going to be around tomorrow to post the next chapter like I wanted, and there was a typo bugging the heck out of me in the first chapter, so you guys get the second one a bit early (I've got the next four or so already written up, so expect regular updates for a while). This story has gripped me, and I'm having a hard time stopping at this point. Reviews are greatly appreciated; you guys help keep me encouraged to keep writing. Enjoy!

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It had been three hours since Finn had gotten that brief text from Kurt saying that he was running a bit behind. Something was wrong. Kurt was never late like this.

"Burt, honey, I'm sure he's fine. He might have gotten caught up in the snow. I was coming down pretty hard for a little bit there." Carole rubbed her husband's shoulder gently, pushing the skin around in a comforting circle. "He'll be here."

"I know, but what if he got into an accident or something. It's just not like him to disappear like this." He pulled out of her grip and started pacing up and down the worn linoleum of the kitchen floor.

The food had been ready nearly an hour ago and the scent of the soup, potatoes and carefully prepared turkey meat had filled the entire house. Carole had taken extra care in preparing something moderately healthy while familiar and tasty enough for Burt and Finn to enjoy it, though the food had probably gone a bit dry now that it has been sitting for so long.

Finn was sitting on the couch in the living room, flipping through the channels at lightening speed. Carole could hear the growls of hunger escaping his stomach from her seat in the kitchen. "Finn, why don't you serve yourself something so you don't waste away over there," she called to him with a slight smile.

He got up and walked over but was hesitant to touch the food. "Are you sure? I mean, I thought we were gonna wait for Kurt so we could all eat together." His voice was quiet and questioning but Carole could see his gaze creep over to the stovetop, where the pot of soup sat, steaming merrily.

"It's all right, darling. I'm sure Kurt just got held up. Go ahead and have a little something. We can have full portions once he gets here." She patted her son on the back, nudging him toward the food. Her smile grew a tiny bit as her son generously portioned out some soup for himself before slumping heavily to the table, bowl held careful in his hands and a plush slice of bread clenched between his teeth. Teenagers, they'd eat anything and everything you put in front of them, she mused fondly as Finn inhaled the partial meal.

Burt was still pacing. She rose and embraced him, effectively bringing his mad trek to a stuttering halt. His solid frame melted against her and she led him to the table to sit. He stared blankly at the darkness peeking through the screen door to the backyard. The grass had long since disappeared under a hefty sheet of white and Burt knew the roads had to be bad with these conditions at this time of night. It was already bitterly cold and snow was still falling.

"What if he's not okay? The roads can't be good right now. Oh god, what if he's wrecked the car and can't call for help? What if he's-"

"Hush, Burt Hummel," Carole interrupted sharply, placing a finger firmly over her husband's mouth. "I don't want to hear another word. You're going to have a little soup so you don't go completely without in case of an emergency and we're going to sit this out for another half hour. If he hasn't called by then, then we try him. If we can't get to him, we call the police. Sound fair?" Her eyes were hard and focused as she spoke, her stance firm. Burt stared at her for a moment before nodding dimly.

"Good," she sighed. She fetched a bowl and began to ladle in soup for Burt but had a sinking feeling in her stomach that something wasn't right. Kurt was a responsible young man and he certainly would not want to worry his father like this, not after the heart attack. Her brow creased with worry. Kurt would be okay. She didn't know how they would handle it if he wasn't.

She was suddenly startled from her train of thought by the cheerful tone of Finn's phone chirping form the couch. He abandoned his nearly empty bowl and bolted from his seat, flinging himself over the top of the couch to answer the call before the last ring.

"Hello? Kurt? Is that-hey, slow down, dude. Are you okay?" The entire house went silent as Finn waited for a response. Burt sat stock still in his chair like a deer trapped in the spell of headlight from and oncoming car. He had been right. Something was wrong with Kurt.

"Where are you? No, I-just stay there. We'll come get you, okay? No, keep the car running; we don't want you freezing to death. You sound like hell, man. Your dad and I will come get you, okay? We'll be there in like, fifteen minutes." His voice was saturated with distress and kept rising in pitch.

"Kurt? Are you still there? Kurt?" Nothing.

There was a slight pause then as Finn realized Kurt's phone had cut out. The air hung thick and heavy with tension until suddenly broken by Burt swiping his keys from the counter and slipping on a jacket in one swift motion. He raced to the door, Finn scrambling on his heels.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: Really tired. Figured y'all might like to have this since I can actually post it right now. Probably more tomorrow. We'll see. Enjoy.

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Kurt woke up to darkness. Nothing seemed quite real-the scarlet walls, the scrunched blanket beneath him, his rumpled shirt, the light patter of water falling from somewhere out of his reach-and it scared him.

Where was he? What had happened?

He sat up, closed his eyes and placed his head on the bare skin of his bent knees. Hadn't he been wearing pants earlier? He thought he had, but he couldn't remember. It was fine. It was okay. Missing pants weren't such a huge problem since he still seemed to be in his underwear. They were probably around here somewhere and even if they weren't, they were simply one of the regulation school bottoms. He had several pair back in his room. Nothing to be upset over. His missing shoes, on the other hand sent a pang through him. Those had been expensive. His dad had warned him about losing them, said he wouldn't be able to buy any new ones other than off-brand sneakers should they go missing. The schoolmasters wouldn't be pleased to see _that_ upon his return.

His eyelids squeezed even more tightly together and he tried to think back over the night's events, battling desperately with his heaving lungs to calm his quickening breath and the pounding surges of blood raging inside his skull. Everything was fine. Nothing had happened. He was okay.

Blaine had invited him to his room for some sparkling cider before he had to leave for the break. Okay. They had toasted the new year, even though it was weeks away and laughed and sung a little, but Kurt couldn't for the life of him remember the song. Blaine had kissed him. And then…and then…and then there was nothing. He couldn't remember a thing.

His eyes snapped open and he quickly surveyed the room. He was in Blaine's room; he recognized the scattered trinkets on the desk. There was water running somewhere. A shower? He looked toward the direction of where he knew the bathroom to be and sure enough, the door was shut tight, a thin film of light creeping out from the space between door and carpet.

He felt his chest tighten and he swung his legs over the side of the bed, stopping short as a wave of dizziness hit him. Something wasn't right. He felt oddly numb and he couldn't get his breathing under control. It was okay. The cider had probably been spiked by Wes before he'd handed it over to Blaine. Yes, that had to be the reason why the room wouldn't stop spinning and the alarm clock's bright red digits screamed the wrong numbers at him. It couldn't be that late. Blaine said he wouldn't keep him for long.

But why was Blaine in the shower? Had he realized the cider was spiked and then gone to take a quick trip under the water to sober up? Yeah, that had to be it. Kurt felt his gaze drawn to the window. It was already dark and snow was still coming down. His dad must be throwing a fit. Kurt needed to get to his phone. Needed to let his dad know that he was okay, that they could start without him. He'd be home soon. But first he had to get back to his room.

He pushed himself off the bed and swayed unsteadily on his feet. Even before, when he'd gotten drunk on April Rhodes's whatever it was she had given him, he hadn't been this unsteady. It was like he wasn't in control over his own body, almost like a dream where he watched himself fumble across the room like an imbecile. Ugh, he was never drinking again.

He stumbled forward and his foot connected with something soft and pliable. His pants, he realized with a start. He bent down to pick them up and was knocked to the floor by a crushing pain at the base of his spine that stole his breath away. He lay there on the floor for a few moments, panting into the carpet. _That_ couldn't be right. He'd never felt anything quite like that before.

He curled into himself a little and tried to calm down. _You're okay. You're okay. You're okay. It's nothing. It was just a figment of your imagination. It was nothing, Kurt. Just keep focused. Blaine would never let anything happen to you. You're safe._ He breathed deep through his nose and exhaled slowly from his mouth. _You're okay._

His eye caught sight of a dark shape on the floor and he clumsily groped forward until his fingers hit leather. A shoe. Definitely one of his from the feel of it. And there was the other one next to it, tipped on its side. He grabbed them and stumbled to his feet, the sharp pain blessedly gone but a fiery ache that wormed its way to the tips of his toes remained. Okay, so he hadn't been imagining the pain. It just wasn't as bad as he'd thought. Maybe he'd fallen or something in his drunken state. Yeah, that was it. He just needed to get back to his dorm, splash a little water on his face to sober up, fix himself up and get home. Nothing was wrong. Everything was okay. He staggered through the door into the deserted hallway, pants clutched loosely in the crook of one arm, his shoes in hand. He just needed to go home. He was okay.


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt Hummel felt as though he had been run over by a thresher. He sagged to the floor of his dorm's bathroom, relieved and too tired to stand. His pants and shoes hit the floor with him and he winced at the dull thud of rubber soles against the tiled floor. Everything was too loud. Everything was too bright. He wasn't really quite sure what to do with himself.

He needed to get cleaned up, sobered up, before he headed out. It wouldn't do to be driving out in the snow while nursing what felt like a hangover.

He slumped against the door frame and closed his eyes. His dad was going to kill him. He'd been upset the last time Kurt had been caught drunk on school grounds (vomiting on his guidance counselor after brokenly mumbling to her in the hallways about Disney movies was definitely _not_ one of his life's higher points) but he was going to be absolutely _furious_ this time. Especially after he and Carole had spent the money for their honeymoon on his tuition for Dalton and getting caught drunk was certain to get him kicked out. Stupid Wes for giving Blaine spiked beverages. Stupid Blaine for being so charming. Stupid Kurt for being so smitten. He snorted in disdain. _Boys_.

He sighed and eyed the toilet wistfully. So close and yet so far. He really needed to clean himself up and find some excuse to give his dad (and Finn and Carole) about why exactly he was so late. This was going to be loads of fun.

He eased himself up, clutching the door frame for support. The ache in his tailbone hadn't lessened during trek back to his room. If anything, it was slightly worse. And besides that (and the odd detached feeling he had from his body), he simply felt strange, almost like he was wearing the wrong skin. He looked down at himself. Nope, still Kurt Hummel. Same shirt he'd been wearing (oh god, had it really been) nearly three hours ago, if a little scrunched and wrinkled. Same black socks as always, though the heel of the right one was now inching its way around to the top of his foot. Uncomfortable, but tolerable for the time being. No jacket, that had been left on his bed with his other personal affects to take home. His pants had been fine-unsoiled and almost as crisp as he usually wore them. He shoes, thank heavens, had been completely unharmed, just unlaced. He wasn't sure when the alcohol had made him decide that taking off his pants and shoes was a good idea, but he fully intended to apologize to Blaine via phone tomorrow afternoon. And thank heavens he had still been wearing his underwear. He would have just died of embarrassment if he'd-wait. His breath caught in his throat.

His underwear. It was on backwards.

He let out a short burst of breath that sounded close to a sob as he stared at the grey fabric. The unassuming clothing leered back, definitely on the opposite way it should, riding up uncomfortably in the back. _That's_ why he had felt so strange. His fingers trembled as he gripped the waistband. _Just take them off and turn them around. Nothing happened. Maybe you were more drunk than you thought and really did take them off, but Blaine persuaded you to put them back on. The wrong way. He's a good guy, though. Nothing happened. It's okay. It's okay. Breathe, Kurt. Everything's okay._

He yanked them down hard and fast, flinching at the renewed sharpness of the pain in his legs. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," he chanted softly to himself. Just briefly check the inside and put them back on. He'd see nothing there because nothing happened, right? He couldn't remember, hard as he tried. It was getting even more difficult to remember why he had gone to Blaine's room in the first place and his damn breathing still would not slow. He turned the fabric over in his hands but didn't look, couldn't force himself to just yet. It was okay. Nothing happened. Blaine wouldn't-he wouldn't take advantage of him. Everything was fine.

He drew in a huge surge of air through his nose, steeling himself. He could do this. Just look down. There would be nothing to see-just some underwear he thought was comfortable, if a little bland. That's all. He slowly cracked open his eyes and unbundled the fabric he'd crushed together in his panic. Look. Nothing. Nothing except-his eyes widened and he stood completely still for a moment before throwing the underwear to the other side of the room where they landed without a sound beside the shower. He sank back down to the floor, no longer possessing the strength to hold himself up.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. There had been a dot of blood nestled in the front of his underwear, which meant that he was bleeding from behind. This couldn't be happening. Not when things were finally going so well. It was just-Blaine wouldn't-he must've-, but Kurt couldn't keep hold of a single thought. He was bleeding, he registered numbly. He needed to take care of that. Wash himself. Clean himself up. He couldn't worry his dad like this. It might cause another heart attack. The thought of his dad oddly calmed him and he struggled to his feet once more.

He turned the tap on the sink to cold and splashed some of the stinging water to his face. It helped a bit to clear the fuzz in his head. He could do this. His eyes trailed up to the mirror in front of him and his haggard reflection stared back. What was that on his neck? He leaned forward, his eyes squinting against the harsh white light of the bathroom. His fingers tugged the collar of his shirt down and he froze. Hickeys. Dark and blotchy and oh god, Blaine knew he hated them, but there they were, plain as day, and he couldn't breathe anymore.

He had to go home. Had to tell his dad. Somebody. He rushed out of the bathroom, ignoring the increasing pain in his back. Gotta get home. Blaine could come back at any time and who knew what would happen then? He had to leave. Had to go _now_.

He hastily threw on his pants and jacket, heedless of his lack of undergarments and snatched his bag, keys and phone from the bed. He just had to get home. Everything would be okay then. He paused at the door, suddenly remembering his forgotten underwear in the bathroom. He didn't want to go back. Didn't want to touch it. Didn't want to see the hard evidence of his lost innocence lying there on the bathroom floor, but he couldn't leave them there. It was evidence. He needed them in case his dad wanted to go to the police. The reality of what happened hit him just then and he almost lost his footing. The police. Oh god, he'd been raped. Drugged and _raped_ by his boyfriend. His legs began to tremble so hard that he thought he'd topple over. He needed to go home.

He quickly rushed back to the bathroom and shoved the soiled underwear halfway into one of his pants pockets. He'd deal with it later. Right now he just needed to get to his car and put some distance between himself and Dalton. Before Blaine found out he was missing. He ran, slamming the door shut behind him. Snow continued to fall outside.

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Author's note: And here is where I shall leave you. This would have been posted earlier, but the internet I had available to me was blocked. Thank you guys for all the reviews and such. It's really very encouraging. Expect more soon. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: Not much to say this time around. Thank you guys so much for your reviews and everything. I hope you continue to enjoy reading this.

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He wasn't entirely sure when the haze of tears had blurred his vision so badly that he couldn't tell the winding strip of road from the snow-flecked sky, but it had led him to pull off to the icy shoulder and idle, his hands resting shakily on the still cold steering wheel.

This wasn't happening. This, the fear of _this,_ had been one of the reasons he had transferred, though the attacker of his nightmares was a meaty mass of fists who'd punch him sooner than give him the time of day, not Blaine. Never Blaine.

He couldn't feel his hands anymore and even the soreness of his back, his legs, his everything, had gone a kind of cold numb. He still wasn't breathing quite right, though his lungs no longer burned with raw, coppery urgency as they had when he'd fled the school.

He needed to call his dad. He really, really needed to call his dad. Let him know that he was okay._ Let him know that he wasn't okay. _The engine of the car still rumbled beneath him, trying to warm itself up. He usually let his baby sit and get used to the cold before driving off, but he'd had to get away. She understood. The heater had just started to kick in and the fog of his breath inside the car was getting smaller and smaller. The snow was picking up again and it was growing ever harder to see through the curtain of ice. The wipers of his car kept shoveling away thin films of it as they collected on his windshield. It was hard to see out any other windows. He needed to call his dad.

He moved his hand into his jacket pocket, eyes never leaving the road. What would he say to him? _Hey, dad, you know the guy I've been dating? Yeah, apparently he doesn't take 'no' for an answer. Apparently I'm nothing but a warm body to him and catatonic must mean 'yes.' Apparently I don't mean anything anymore, do I?_ He felt more tears cut hot tracks on his cheeks. Oh god. His dad. He laid his head against the steering wheel, hand still in his pocket, fingers clenched around his phone. His dad was going to blame himself for this.

But it was all Kurt's fault, wasn't it? _He'd_ insisted on being different and flamboyant, which had garnered him nothing but contempt and bruises and ruined clothes from bullies. _He'd_ been the one who'd been singled-out by the most closeted guy in Ohio and threatened directly with bodily harm. _He'd_ been the one who couldn't take the bullying anymore. _He'd_ been the one who needed the school transfer. _He'd_ chosen Blaine, thought Blaine was perfect, that Blaine was safe. _He'd_ been the one stupid enough to believe Blaine-the one stupid enough to follow the other boy to his room and drink whatever the hell he'd been handed without a second thought. It was all his fault. The sobs came in earnest now. He couldn't call home. His dad was probably worried about why he hadn't shown up by now and was most likely hovering over the phone in the kitchen like a cat watching a bird's nest, and he just couldn't face him couldn't call home.

Finn. He'd texted Finn earlier to let him know he'd be late. Finn was a safe intermediary. He wouldn't panic. He could talk to his dad and bring him here without making Kurt face him right away.

Kurt tentatively pulled his phone from his pocket. A tiny box at the top of its screen blinked furiously, informing him that his battery was just about dead. He scrolled through his contacts and found Finn's name, his saving grace, pausing for only a moment before pressing 'Send.'

He waited. One ring. Two. Three. Four-

"Hello?"

He felt his breath hitch at Finn's voice. So familiar it hurt. "Finn?" His voice was hesitant and shaky; he didn't sound at all like himself.

"Kurt? Is that-" he wasn't able to finish.

"Oh god, Finn, you've gotta help me! I can't-I don't know what to do! I can't remember anything! He just-I don't-I tried, I swear!" The words were fast and hot as they spilled from his lips, his addled brain not bothering to filter anything he said. Tears flowed in earnest now.

"Hey, slow down, dude." Finn's voice was calm, but Kurt could hear the edge of worry in his tone. "Are you okay?"

His heart was pounding in his chest and he couldn't see; he couldn't breathe, but it was Finn on the phone and he had to know where Kurt was. He'd get him through this nightmare.

"No," he whispered. "No, Finn. I'm not okay." _This doesn't happen in real life. Only in movies and those stupid cop dramas his dad sometimes watched. Not to real people. Not to him._

Finn was silent for a moment, "Where are you?"

"I…I…" He suddenly lost his nerve. So stupid. He was just being stupid. He could drive himself home. He'd gotten himself this far. "Never mind, Finn. I-I'll be home soon. It's nothing, just-"

"No," Finn interrupted, "I-just stay there. We'll come get you, okay?" He couldn't hide the worry in his voice now. Finn had never been very good at being anything other than transparent.

"Okay," he whispered back. "Are you sure? I mean, I could-" His voice cut out. "Never mind. I'm just off the highway. Do you want me to stand outside and wait for you guys? The car doesn't have much gas left in her and it's really not that cold. I mean, it's still snowing, but I could-"

"No, keep the car running; we don't want you freezing to death. You sound like hell, man. Your dad and I will come get you, okay? We'll be there in like, fifteen minutes."

"Okay," Kurt replied. "Finn, is my dad there? Finn?" No answer. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen. Dead. Stupid. He should have charged it before he left. He let it clatter into the cup holder, the sound echoing loudly in the now warm car. He could see the soft grey lump of his underwear on the floor of the passenger side, where he'd thrown it in his hasty escape. It haunted him, but it was okay. Finn would be here soon. His dad would be there soon. They'd get him some help. They'd keep him safe. He closed his eyes and crushed his forehead back against the steering wheel. He could feel the hard nubs of the wheel tattooing red blotches into his skin, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Everything would be okay. It just had to be.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: This is probably one of my favorite chapters thus far. You get it early because I'm moving faster with this than expected.

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Finn couldn't help the nervous looks he kept shooting his stepfather. They had packed themselves into the tow truck from the shop-Burt made sure to keep an extra set of keys for it lying around, just in case-and sped away into the night in search of Kurt as soon as they had realized he wasn't going to respond. His phone must have died or something because every time Finn tried to call back, it went straight to voicemail. The car ride was silent, the tension thick and heavy in the air.

Burt's face was pale, almost ghost-like from behind the wheel and Finn was reluctant to say anything to him lest he break his concentration. The man's son was out there somewhere. _Kurt_ was out there somewhere, and he needed help. Maybe he'd wrecked or hit somebody or had run into some trouble before he'd left the school or-a dozen possibilities flooded his head, each one worse than the next. Kurt had sounded whole on the phone, but really, really confused. That could mean he'd hit his head. He had, after all, asked if he should wait outside his car for them, which was just stupid considering how freakin' cold it was now (the sun had set and taken any semblance of warmth with it, leaving little but darkness and ice).

They were close to the highway now. Finn vaguely recognized the route from when he had visited Kurt briefly over the fall break. McKinley had had a few more days off than Dalton and Finn thought he'd surprise Kurt with a visit from him and a few of the other glee kids. It had been fun, if not a bit surreal, when they'd all sat down in one of the common areas to drink coffee.

Dalton was weird. Like stepping-into-a-diner-filled-with-robots weird, but he hadn't said anything about it to Kurt. His stepbrother had seemed happy enough there, so why make a big deal out of nothing? He'd been happier still when he'd come home later that week and broke the news to Finn and their parents that he had a boyfriend: this Blaine kid whom Finn had seen a couple of times. Kurt had even brought him to dinner on one of the weekends he went home. He was a glee kid too and seemed nice enough-for a gay rival from another school. Rachel liked him, anyway. Finn didn't give him too much thought. As long as Kurt was happy.

He shifted uncomfortably in the cold, beaten-up leather seat and looked back at Mr. Hummel. The man's knuckles were white and bulged menacingly on the steering wheel. His hands had to be cold, but Finn kept quiet. He sunk back into the uncomfortable seat, letting the trickle of slowly warming air from the heater wash over him, and prayed for Kurt to be okay. Burt would flip if he wasn't, and as strong as his mom was, Finn didn't think she could fully handle a grieving father like Burt. Not after how he'd seen Burt react when he thought Kurt was threatened. He would know. His eyes moved back to the window.

It was too dark to see much of anything outside the car and the snow had picked up, obscuring things worse. They had to be getting close. Kurt had said he was just off the highway-there! Lights!

"Burt! Over there!" Finn bolted upright in his seat and pointed ahead of them. Kurt's Navigator sat just off the side of the road on the shoulder, hazard lights flashing in the dark. It seemed to be undamaged, in one piece, though the windows had been completely covered in snow. Kurt hadn't turned on the windshield wipers. Maybe he was conserving power or something. It would suck to have the car's battery die in the snow like this.

Burt sped up until he was near the car and then pulled over, setting his own hazard lights blinking. Kurt was here. He rushed across the road, Finn close behind, neither of them bothering to check for passing vehicles. Burt was frantic with worry and couldn't give a wit about his own safety at that point. His son was right there and he needed help, needed his dad. Everything else could wait.

His boots crunched loudly in the crusty layer of snow as he approached the car. The engine was still running, so Kurt should be warm at least, though the inside looked to be pretty dark. Kid had left the light off to conserve battery power, he guessed. He pulled at the driver's side door and found it unlocked. "Kurt?"

Light filled the cabin of the car and Burt saw clearly inside. Kurt was curled up in the passenger seat, feet tucked up beside him, and he looked to be asleep. He hadn't stirred at the sudden brightness.

Kurt looked okay, but Finn's rushed conversation with the boy earlier still had him spooked. Burt climbed into the car and leaned over the emergency break to get closer to Kurt. He reached out and touched his son's shoulder, desperate for contact. He needed to know that Kurt was okay, needed to know that Kurt was real and sitting in front of him and _oh please, let him be okay._

Kurt startled at the touch to his shoulder and flung himself against the other side of the car in panic. His eyes were large and wary as they darted back and forth, his breath sharp and too short before he realized who was in the car with him. Kurt's pupils had dilated so large they crowded out the beautiful blue-green of his eyes. Something was definitely wrong.

"Dad?" he croaked, unsure of himself. His eyes began to water once more. He'd thought he'd drained himself of tears a while ago. Apparently not. "Dad, is that you?" His voice broke as he stumbled over the words, almost as if he had filled his mouth with rocks. Finn was standing just outside the door, curious about Kurt, but hesitant to disrupt the pair. He shuffled his feet in the snow as he tried to keep himself moving and warm.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me. The car looks okay, so I think we can rule out a crash." He fixed his son with a hard stare, noting with a touch of anxiety the tears streaming down the boy's pale face. "Are _you_ okay?" He moved his hand from Kurt's shoulder, closer to his face, but he flinched away sharply from the touch. Burt withdrew his hand, a little hurt and rather frightened at his son's reaction.

"I…" His voice caught in his throat and Kurt wanted nothing more than to just disappear right then and there. Now that his dad was here, he wasn't sure if he could gather up the courage to tell him. "Dad, I…" He caught sight of Finn standing just outside the car, shuffling awkwardly about in the snow. He then remembered the discarded underwear under his seat and the pain came rushing back to him in a whirlwind of agony. He could do this. He _had_ to do this or it might happen again. He had to keep himself safe for his dad's sake.

He looked up sadly at his dad's face, barely comprehending the immense worry carved into his expression. Kurt's eyes had clouded with tears and the leftover haze of the drugs in his system. His breath was shallow and uneven as he caught his father's gaze and held it.

"I think I need to get to a hospital."


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: Next chapter. More angst. By the way, I hate 's formatting when it comes to dashes. I want my double dashes back. :(

* * *

He heard the sharp intake of breath of breath from across the cab and winced. He lowered his eyes in shame, no longer able to bear looking at his father's face. Perhaps this was a mistake, bringing his dad all the way out here. But it was too late to turn back now, and the pain was back, and his father was already here, and he hurt _so bad_. His dad would make everything okay again.

"Okay, Kurt. Okay. Just-just let me get some instructions to Finn and I'll get you there. You're gonna be fine," he murmured, more to himself than to Kurt. "Where's your phone? Is it charged?"

Kurt shook his head and pointed to the cup holders where his phone sat silent and dark. Burt grabbed it and replaced it with his own phone before climbing out of the car. He turned to Finn who was still standing beside the door, waiting for instructions.

"Can-Finn, can you take this," he shoved the phone and the keys to the truck into Finn's hands, "and go home to pick up your mother? I need you to meet us at the hospital. You can keep driving the truck or use one of the other cars. I know the truck isn't the most comfortable thing in the world." Burt was babbling, his mind running much too fast. His hands were shaking badly and Finn didn't think it was from the cold.

Finn nodded and trudged back over to the truck, nervous and worried but determined to see his task through. As he turned the truck around and pulled away, Burt clambered back into the Navigator. He shut the door and sat still for a moment, listening to the quiet in-and-out of Kurt's breath. He kept his eyes forward, flipping the wipers back on to brush away the layer of snow built up on the windshield. He pulled off the shoulder and began making his way carefully toward the hospital. His heart was beating madly in his chest, but he managed to stay silent until they were securely on the road, the headlights seeming to be the only thing moving, the only thing still alive, on such a cold, dark night.

"What happened, Kurt?" he asked softly after some time had passed in uncomfortable silence, his eyes fixated on the road. Kurt hadn't moved in the whole time since shortly after Burt and Finn had arrived: still hunched up in that odd way on the seat, arms wrapped tightly around himself.

He was silent for a while and Burt almost repeated his question, afraid that Kurt hadn't heard him. "Kurt?"

"I was raped," he finally answered. His voice was low and flat, and his eyes never left the road in front of them, as if he was seeing something that wasn't really there. His entire body had gone rigid and he couldn't bear to look at the man beside him. Couldn't bear to see his father's reaction.

Burt swerved and pulled over, not quite believing what he had just heard. Rape? Had Kurt really just said that? His grip on the wheel had been unsteady since Kurt had told him he needed a hospital, but this, _this_. His heart pounded loudly in his ears as he fought to keep his breathing under control. He turned to face his son, his eyes pleading. _Don't let it be true. Oh please, don't let it be true. _His voice was very quiet when he found the nerve to speak again, almost inaudible against the sound of the wipers scraping back and forth across the windshield. The cabin felt suddenly cold, even though the heater was on full blast. Snowflakes clung to the windows and melted, forming little rivulets down the glass. "What did you just say?"

Kurt still wouldn't look at him, simply turned his head down and tucked his chin against his chest, his entire body shaking. "I-I was with Blaine. I was packing to go home, and we were talking. He wanted me to stay another night-leave in the morning-but I told him about the dinner Carole was making and…" He paused for a second, lost in thought. "I don't remember what he said, but I went with him to his room. I left my phone on the bed. The battery was dying, but I didn't want to dig its charger out of my bag, so I just left it there."

Burt noted with fear that Kurt's trembling had increased exponentially and almost told him to stop, that it was okay, he didn't need to make this real, but Kurt kept going. Tears had started to flow down his face again, but he didn't wipe them away. Burt wondered briefly if he even knew they were there.

"I can't-I don't remember anything," Kurt mumbled quietly to himself. "There's nothing there-like a black hole in my memory." His eyes were even more wide and frightened than before, and he kept staring intently at nothing, which cut a knife of fear through Burt with a fierce intensity. Kurt's pupils were still too big.

Kurt's breath shortened, coming in tight bursts that bordered on hyperventilation. "I remember being in my room, but I don't know how I got there. I-I don't think I had any pants, but my shoes were okay, so it was fine. I mean, I had them with me, but it hurt too bad to get them, so I left them there on the floor I think." Burt didn't quite understand what he meant by that, but kept silent, waiting for Kurt to continue. "It all should have been okay. I mean, I trusted-it's not-I just don't-I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. Oh god, I'm sorry! How could I-how could I be so stupid?" Kurt's voice died with a choked sob and violent shudders swept through him. Suddenly, he flung open the door and leaned out the side of the car, his seatbelt holding him partway inside like a puppet whose strings had been tangled. His stomach rebelled and sent up a surge of mostly-digested food and bile. Burt freed himself from his own seatbelt and exited the car, quickly making his way over to the passenger side where he helped disentangle Kurt from the vehicle, thankful he'd had the good sense to stop the damn thing when Kurt had first started talking. They fell to the snowy ground in a heap, just barely missing the puddle of vomit soaking into the snow and dirt. It left a dark, stinking shadow beside them. Kurt was crying again.

Burt had Kurt's shoulders gripped firmly in his arms, the boy's face pressed against the flannel of his shirt where a damp spot was rapidly growing. He wouldn't stop shaking.

"It's okay, son. Everything's gonna be okay," he whispered, rubbing soothing circles into Kurt's back and was mildly relieved when Kurt didn't flinch away. "Let's just get you to the hospital and get you all sorted out." He pulled Kurt to his feet, staggering a little at having to support the boy's mostly dead weight on the icy ground. They stumbled toward the car, Burt awkwardly in the lead, Kurt far too exhausted to do much else than lean heavily against his dad's side. As Burt eased his son back into the car, he noticed the dark spot on the upholstery where Kurt had been sitting. _Oh god, oh god, please don't let that be blood. This isn't happening, can't be happening. Not to Kurt. He's got so much on his plate already. This isn't happening. I don't know how to handle this one._ He got Kurt settled once more in the car, strapped the mostly unresponsive boy in, and started back toward the hospital. He didn't know what else to do; Kurt needed help, and he couldn't do this one on his own.

So what if he sped a little more than he should have in such conditions? So what if he had trouble keeping his eyes on the road and off of his baby boy who had fallen into a fitful sleep from exhaustion and god only knew what else in the passenger seat? So what if he barely breathed for the remaining twenty minute drive before the lights of the hospital building came into view? He and Kurt had been spit on cosmically in the past so many times now that Burt was firm in his belief that whatever god or gods there may be owed them one, damn it. They would make it to the hospital in one piece-whether or not they left it that way was another story entirely, but he'd deal with that when they got there. Right now-he glanced over at Kurt and gripped one of his boy's small hands in his own, trying to comfort him the best he knew how-right now, this was the best he could do. And it had to be enough.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: Next chapter. You're almost caught up with what I have posted on LJ. If that's the case, you'll probably have to wait just a bit longer for updates (sorry). Especially since part thirteen is giving me troubles. Just like the formatting here. I want my proper breaks back the way I intended them. :(

* * *

It had been a long time since Burt had set foot in a hospital, not since Kurt's mother had passed, and it was different than he remembered. He pictured hospitals as this sort of living, breathing _thing_, always humming with activity and nurses and doctors and patients-be it cuts or car crashes or cancer, there had always been something _happening_. He definitely expected _something_ from a Friday night with such bad road conditions, not the near empty waiting area in the emergency or the lone nurse at the station. It was almost surreal how quiet it was.

Kurt had been almost completely unresponsive by the time he staggered over to the desk looking for help, any kind of help for his son. Kurt's body sagged against his like a sandbag, only held up by his arm tossed over Burt's shoulder, Burt's hand secured tightly around his son's waist.

He'd been breathless as he approached the counter. "I-I need to report a rape," he panted and suddenly the hospital was closer to how he remembered it, chaos consuming his world.

* * *

Hours stacked upon hours. Finn and Carole had shown up not too long after Kurt had been admitted, but had been sequestered to the waiting area. Kurt wanted as little human contact as possible, not sure he could face the worried looks of his new family members. It hurt bad enough that his dad knew-that his dad _had_ to know, but it was necessary. Kurt wouldn't be able to live with himself if this whole ordeal brought on another heart attack or something. _Oh god, this was all his fault._

The examination had been invasive, but straightforward: Kurt had given up the uniform he'd been wearing (Burt couldn't help the tears that stung his eyes when he saw the dark stain on the seat of Kurt's trousers) to his doctor; everything had been collected after a rather awkward trip for Burt back to the Navigator with a brown paper bag and some gloves to collect his son's discarded underwear. Various samples had been collected from his hair, his fingernails, his mouth, his everywhere. They'd also taken blood for testing, told the pair of them something about STDs and date rape drugs and Kurt had gone white as a sheet, not fully registering the weight of the situation, completely overwhelmed.

"Do you know who did this to you?" his doctor, a large but pleasant woman who went by Dr. Andrews, asked him softly once he had changed into one of the spare uniforms from his bag.

"Yes." Kurt's head was clearer now, but he still had troubling gaps in his recall of the event. He couldn't look at her. Couldn't tell her that he was damn sure it had been his boyfriend; that he had deserved it. That he wanted to just die from the shame.

"Do you want to report this to the police?" Her round fingers were warm where she rested them gently against his hands. It reminded him vaguely of his mother. "I don't want to pressure you into anything, but there is a time limit on these things, and you are a minor." Her voice trailed off and she locked eyes with Burt. The man's posture grew even more stiff from his place near the door.

"I don't-I…dad?" Kurt abruptly looked at his father then, eyes lost and defeated, no longer clouded by whatever poison had been in his system. He was hurting. He honestly had no idea what to do.

"Report the bastard, Kurt. I want him to pay for this," he hissed. Burt's stomach clenched in anger at the thought of someone hurting his boy. _How could anyone sink as low as this?_ Someone had hurt Kurt in such an unimaginable way, not only violating him but then subjecting him to _this_-the examination, the humiliation, the chance he wouldn't be taken seriously-Burt wanted blood. He wanted it _now._

Kurt looked down at his hands resting quietly on his thighs. Dr. Andrews's hands were now both clutching her clipboard. Kurt missed the touch. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay, I'll do it."

Andrews drew herself up from her seat and rested her hand gently on Kurt's shoulder. "Everything's going to be okay, Kurt." Then to Mr. Hummel, "I'll see about getting a police officer down here so Kurt can give a statement." And she was gone, the door announcing her departure with a soft click.

Silence hung heavy in the air. Burt shifted uncomfortably, glancing back and forth from the covered window to the hunched form of his son sitting there, looking smaller than ever, on the paper-covered examination bed. He didn't know quite what to do. He desperately wanted to go over to Kurt, fling his arms around him and tell him that everything was okay, was _going to be okay_, that nothing had changed. But that was a lie, wasn't it? _Everything had changed. _He wasn't really sure how the boy would react to his presence, so he kept his distance. Better safe than sorry. It was up to Kurt if he wanted his dad to comfort him physically, no matter how much Burt wanted to crush his son to his chest and never let go. He looked at Kurt-still silent, still staring at his hands; he wouldn't look him in the eye.

Burt turned back to the blinds covering the window, concealing them from the rest of the hospital. He sighed. Finn and Carole had probably been out there for quite some time now with little or no news. He wondered if he should go get them, bring them in, but he didn't know if Kurt wanted them here. Didn't know if Kurt wanted either of them to know. He was drawn from his thoughts by a quiet sob. Kurt had curled in on himself again. Burt's forehead creased in worry as he took in Kurt's huddled form.

"Kurt?"

Kurt's voice was very, very quiet. So small. So hurt. Spoken half to his dad and half to no one at all. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I should have seen it coming. I should have stopped him. I should've-I…Oh god, I'm so sorry, dad. If I hadn't-I just-Oh god. I'm so sorry."

To hell with it all. Burt crossed the floor and pulled Kurt flush against him, silent and comforting. Kurt mumbled half-formed words into his dad's flannel shirt. "Please don't hate me. I'm sorry, dad. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." The pained words had almost broken Burt, but he couldn't let Kurt see that, couldn't let his boy know just how much it hurt to see him suffering and Burt helpless to do anything. He drew in a shaky breath.

"It's not your fault, Kurt. You don't deserve this. No one does. It's gonna be okay." Kurt was sobbing quietly now. A hot, wet spot burned itself onto Burt's shoulder and he struggled to keep his breathing even. "You're gonna be okay, Kurt. You're gonna be okay. We won't let him get away with this. I promise."


	9. Chapter 9

Okay, so Finn was really freaking out now. First Kurt doesn't show up for the big dinner thing his mom had prepared, which really wasn't like Kurt at all. He _always_ called or texted or _something_ to let people know when he couldn't make it somewhere. That was just how Kurt was. So no Kurt at all after an "I'm going to be late" text was a bad, bad sign. Then there was that panicky phone call which led to that awkward search for the car and now-now he was stuck in a really uncomfortable chair in the waiting area for the ER because apparently something had happened to Kurt. It had really sucked when he'd gone to pick up his mom and all of her questions had gone unanswered because Finn didn't have a clue what was going on either. He hated leaving his mom in the dark about things like this. He only knew that Burt was taking Kurt to the hospital and that they were to meet up there. That had been hours ago.

He slumped back in his chair. Something hard was sticking into his back, but he found it hard to care. His mom needed him there beside her, keeping her calm. There were only so many times a person could feign interest in the pages of an old magazine before ripping the hair from his skull. He couldn't stand flipping through the Time magazine from 1990 again. Those people's eyes were haunting and not at all helpful in distracting him from the situation at hand. Where in the hell was Burt? What in the hell had happened to Kurt? Why was Finn spending his first night of break clueless in a waiting room, his mother fretting beside him, his phone exploding with texts from friends after they'd been alerted to Kurt needing hospitalization, his stepfather and stepbrother notably missing? This sucked. This really, really sucked.

He felt his stomach twist itself in a knot after a police officer had walked in through the double automatic doors wearing his crisp uniform and shiny gold badge. The man had checked-in at the nurse's station and walked to a room near the back with blinds over the windows. Finn had a sinking suspicion that he knew who was behind there.

He got up and started for the desk, determination settling deep in his gut.

"Finn, honey, where are you going?" His mom's voice was shaky and god, he hated when she was like this. At least it wasn't him she was so worried about, but still. She should be smiling and laughing and eating slightly overcooked turkey with the three of them, not stuck here while waiting for news no one seemed able to give them while snow piled up around the car outside.

"I'm just gonna go see if they can tell us anything about Kurt. Maybe we can see him or something. I'm starting to freak out just a bit," he replied, trying to keep his voice clam and steady. Nothing but the truth-he had a hard time lying to his mom after the whole Beth fiasco. Had a hard time lying to anyone, really, (especially after the recent mess with Rachel and Santana). He knew just how badly lies could hurt, and never wanted to do something like that to his mom. Not now. Not ever.

She nodded quietly and urged him forward. She was just as eager to be done and out of here as he was. Finn had just reached the desk when the door to that back room opened and Burt stepped out, looking like he'd just been hit by several cars and then forced to run a marathon. There was a damp spot on the left shoulder of his red flannel shirt, dark like blood. He stood there in the hallway for a second, staring dumbly at the window behind him before turning toward the nurse's station.

"Burt!" he called, and the man perked up at his name and walked a little faster to get to Finn. Maybe now they'd get some answers.

Burt strode up to him and Finn could see an angry, haunted look in his eyes. "What happened?"

The man's lips twisted in a sad imitation of a smile. "I got kicked out. Can't have me present as my standing there might alter Kurt's statement or something." His voice was shakier than Finn had been expecting. Something big was going down and Finn was still in the dark.

"Wait, what do you mean 'statement?' Burt, what's going on? You told me to get my mom and meet you guys here because Kurt needed a doctor, but no one's told us what's happening." His tone was heavy, agitated. "My mom's really upset."

Burt's expression grew pained at the thought of his wife. "Where is she, Finn? I don't think I can tell you anything without Kurt's say-so first, but he's okay, or at least he will be, I can give you that."

Finn narrowed his eyes and didn't push it. He liked Burt, liked having this father figure around, and he really kind of respected him. He stepped out of the way and let Burt pass, watched him walk over to his mom and give her a tight, comforting squeeze.

His phone went off again in his pocket, buzzing against his thigh through the fabric of his jeans. Mercedes this time, telling him that if he didn't let her know right now what the heck had happened to her boy then she was getting herself over to the hospital faster than a New York minute to find out for herself. He sighed. He probably shouldn't have worried everyone, but they had a right to know their friend was in the hospital, didn't they? It was all Rachel's fault they knew, anyway. She had been the one texting him about coming over and maybe watching movies or something before the break really kicked into full swing even though it was colder than heck out there. What was he supposed to have told her? He'd never been a very good liar, so he'd simply said that he was at the hospital, waiting for an update on Kurt's condition. How was he supposed to know that she'd text everyone in the glee club about it?

He sighed again, frustrated with himself, with his friends, with everything. This was all so stupid. He sent out a mass text letting them all know that Kurt was fine for the time-being, and no, he didn't know exactly what was going on-they were keeping him in the dark too-but he made absolutely certain that they knew Kurt needed to be left alone, at least for now. He'd let them know when he was up for visitors-he'd keep them updated-and left it at that.

He snapped his phone shut and walked back over to where the adults sat. They were leaning against one another for support. He could hear Burt talking softly to his mother, reassuring her. "It's gonna be okay, Carole. He'll be fine. They said they'd even release him tonight after he's been fully evaluated." His hand rubbed the sleeve of her jacket and she seemed much calmer now. Burt looked at Finn once he came into view. He looked incredibly tired.

"Hey, bud. Can you take over for me for a sec? I need to go get some paperwork and start filling it out while we're waiting. The sooner it gets done, the sooner we can get Kurt out of here and back home." Burt kept shooting nervous looks to that unassuming door just down the hall.

Finn nodded, keeping silent, and sat back down next to his mother in that stupid maroon chair as Burt made his way back to the nurse's station. His mom leaned into his shoulder and he held her close. Things were gonna be okay. First that door just had to open and then Kurt would step out, same as always, and everything would be okay. Everything would be back to normal. They would bicker on the car ride home and then decide to order out for pizza since there was little hope of saving the food now, and Kurt would insist on getting one of those nasty cracker pizzas covered in veggies and they'd fight about it until Kurt relented, settling for something healthier than Finn would like but still tasty. Yeah, everything was going to be fine. He just had to make himself believe it.

* * *

Author's note: Felt like posting this tonight instead of tomorrow morning. I'll probably post the next chapter sometime tomorrow afternoon or evening. Hope you guys have enjoyed yourself this far.


	10. Chapter 10

When Kurt was finally released an hour or so later, he looked like hell. He felt like hell. They said he wasn't a suicide risk-the sound of that word, the very idea that Kurt could even contemplate _that_ scared Burt to no end. The four of them trundled themselves into the two cars and drove home in silence once Kurt was cleared to go. Finn and Carole were still lost about the whole situation, still fumbling in the dark about what had happened.

The house was dark, but warm, and still smelled a little like the dinner they were supposed to have had when Burt led Kurt down to the basement to get changed. He didn't want to leave him down there, not even to sleep, but he couldn't hover. Kurt wouldn't want him to hover. And Finn would be there; it was his room too. Finn could keep him safe.

"I'll be okay, dad. I'm fine. I just…I need some sleep right now." His eyes were puffy and discolored from all the crying he'd done earlier, his face blotched with patches of red and white. The sweats he now wore were a little too big and made him look like a little kid who had raided his father's closet and put on the first things he found there. The dull blue color of the fabric only washed him out more and Burt had to resist the urge to pull him back into a hug. God, he looked so fragile.

"All right, kiddo. I'm just worried about you." Burt was quiet for a moment, and he took a deep breath, trying to build his courage. No one had ever told him that having kids would be so difficult, that he might someday have to deal with something so serious, something like _this_. "You know that if you ever need to talk-"

"I'm fine, dad!" Kurt shouted without warning, pushing Burt away. "Nothing happened." He sounded so defeated as he dropped to a seat on his bed, wincing in pain. The hospital had given him something for that. He'd need to take some later. His bed hadn't changed at all in the time since he'd left for Dalton, though the rest of the room was distinctly more 'Finn' in nature. The dark green walls seemed strange to him, but it was okay. Finn must like them, so it was okay. Ugly and terribly uninspired, but okay.

"Nothing happened."

Burt crouched down beside the bed so he was at eye-level with Kurt. It hurt so bad to know that his son didn't want him around, was pushing him away, but he needed to move past that; Kurt was hurting far worse right now. "Kurt, as much as I hate to say it, as much as I don't want it to be true, and as much as I want it all to be a bad dream that we haven't quite woken up from, something did happen. Something really, really bad happened to you, and I'm here if you need me. So is Finn. So is Carole. It's gonna be okay, son. We'll get through this."

Kurt nodded, now more tired than he'd felt in weeks. Months. Years, even.

"Okay, dad," he whispered.

Burt was silent again, trying to catch Kurt's gaze. The soft yellow light of Finn's beside lamp threw their shadows on the wall, like black ghosts suspended in dark green space. "They need to know, Kurt."

Kurt looked up at him, eyes wide and overly bright in the dim light. His expression was laced with fear. "But-"

"They're gonna find out sometime or another, kiddo. They live here. With you, with me. We can't keep this a secret, Kurt. Not to them. It's not fair. They-they've gotta know."

Kurt looked down at the floor, down at his bare toes. He wasn't ready to face them yet, to face what had happened to him. It still didn't seem quite real. Not when he couldn't remember it-only the aftermath. "Can…can you tell them? I don't know that I can. I…I'm really tired." Drained, really. He just wanted to curl up under the covers of the bed he remembered so fondly and sleep for a million years. Pretend that none of this had ever happened. That everything could go back to the way it was.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay, Kurt. You just get some sleep. Finn will be down in a little bit. I'll tell them. You don't-you don't need to do anything, okay? We can…we can deal with all this in the morning, if you feel up to it. Just get some sleep. It'll be okay." Kurt was listless as his dad pressed his small frame to his chest. The flannel shirt he'd spent so long crying into was soft against his cheek. His dad smelled of sweat and snow and tears and a little like vomit but mostly like _home_.

"I'll check on you later tonight We've been through some bad things before. We'll get through this, bud. We'll get through this."

* * *

Finn and Carole were sitting together at the kitchen table when Burt came up from the basement. Finn had one of his mother's hands gripped tightly in his own, grounding her to the present. This was hard on her: Kurt was as close to a second son as she was going to get; he was dear to her like her own, and not knowing how to help him when he so sorely needed it was torture. Not knowing what had happened to hurt him so badly was tearing her apart. She looked so pale and lost sitting there with Finn. Burt felt his chest tighten.

"Hey," he mumbled quietly, breaking the silence. "He's asleep."

They both turned to him, heavy grooves of exhaustion written across their faces.

Carole was the first to speak. "What happened, Burt? No one would tell us anything. What happened to Kurt?"

He sighed and fell into an empty chair, suddenly feeling more tired than he had since breaking the news to Kurt that his mother was never coming home again. This wasn't-_couldn't_ be real. He closed his eyes and sucked in a burning breath before launching into what he'd pieced together from the police report and Kurt's garbled confession in the car. The night was far too quiet, far too still, far too calm for something like this. It was as if this whole ordeal were some sort of cosmic joke and no one had bothered to tell them the punch line.

* * *

Finn didn't say anything to Kurt when he finally came down the stairs into their shared room for the night-just stared at Kurt's still form for a while, not daring to try and wake him up, though Kurt had yet to actually fall asleep. Kurt couldn't bring himself to face Finn but was just as terrified of what he might see in his dreams, and so he lay awake in the dark, mind racing. The pain meds he'd taken, the stuff from the hospital, had yet to take effect.

His dad said that he'd tell Finn and Carole what had happened, so Finn had to know now. _Oh god, he had to know. He knew. Finn knew_. That's why he was staring at him like that, wasn't it? Finn could see it-could see the filth clinging to him, could see that he deserved it, deserved what had happened, regardless of what his dad had said. He began to tremble, unable to stand the scrutiny, the accusations, the overwhelming _shame_. It was his fault everyone was on pins and needles, his fault they were hurting. He scrunched his eyes closed and tried to let the darkness consume him. He felt like there was this terrible weight on his chest from the pain he was causing his family, crushing him. It was unbearable.

His heart finally slowed when Finn retreated to his side of the room. Kurt could feel the terrible pull of sleep threatening to drag him under and he tried to resist, not sure what awaited him in his dreams, not sure he wanted to find out. The pain medication coursing through him had finally kicked-in, doubling his exhaustion, and it was hard to fight it now that Finn was on the opposite side of the room, out of reach.

How could he let this happen? How could he to this to his dad? To Carole? To Finn? So stupid. So worthless. He hadn't even been able to tell when he'd been drugged. How pathetic was that? His throat tightened and he squeezed his eyes shut.

_Tomorrow, Kurt. Just deal with it tomorrow._ And sleep took him.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's note: Okay, so be prepared to wait a day or two for the next update. I don't know if I'll have internet where I'm supposed to be this weekend and my writing speed has slowed a little on the next part (part sixteen, so it shouldn't affect y'all too much) due to a personal loss. As always, thank you guys so much for the reviews and such and I hope you continue to enjoy this story. Oh, and that stupid text was the hardest freaking thing in the world to write. I must have re-written that thing four or five times. No lie.

* * *

The next morning dawned cold and grey, the heavy clouds overhead threatening to burst and coat Lima with another layer of snow at any moment. The Hummel-Hudson household was quiet and tranquil when Carole stepped into the kitchen, so unlike the thoughts racing through her head. Her husband sat at the kitchen table, still in his sleep clothes. His seated figure was ringed with a halo of soft yellow-orange light from the rising sun peeking through the blinds of the screen door. His hands cradled a steaming coffee mug. The various dishes from last night, some clean, some still bearing the remnants of food, and a lone cell phone were scattered across the tabletop. His eyes were trained on one of the curtained kitchen windows, gaze caught on something Carole couldn't see.

"Burt?"

He started and turned to look at her, a tentative smile wiping away the surprise on his face. "Hey," he greeted. A tiny smile graced his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Did you sleep okay?"

She shook her head. "No. I couldn't, really. Not after…" she trailed off, eyes cast downward. "How are you doing?"

He let out a large stream of air through his nose. "Not so good, but I guess that's to be expected." He looked sadly at the basement door just down the hall. The boys were still asleep. His eyes softened with grief, and his voice was faint when he spoke again. "I don't know if I can do this, Carole."

She came up behind him and laid her hands on his shoulders. "You're strong, Burt. _Kurt's_ strong. We'll get through this. I don't know how just yet, but we'll get through."

He reached up to grab her hand. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. Sometimes it's just so damn hard." He was quiet again. Carole moved around to sit beside him. Thin wisps of steam floated up from Burt's mug to lose themselves in the air between them. She stared at his hands for a short while, trying to memorize the lines of his harsh knuckles and the way his callused fingertips cradled the ceramic mug. Strong hands for a strong man.

"I found this earlier this morning." He gestured to the cell phone sitting on the table. She didn't recognize the sleek black plastic and wondered briefly why it was so important to Burt.

"It's Kurt's phone. It wasn't charged last night-that's why Finn had trouble talking to him before. The phone died right after he told Finn where he was. I brought it in last night from the car. I thought Kurt might want it later. I thought I'd put it on the charger for him, though I don't think he'll need it anytime soon."

Carole wondered at that statement, but didn't question it. She trusted Burt's judgment, and he'd tell her if it was something overly important. He looked like he wanted to say more but kept silent. She fixed her husband with a hard stare, silently urging him to continue. His coffee had started to grow cold, the white films of steam becoming less and less common. She could see tension building in his jaw, but said nothing. Burt would tell her when he was ready. Carole was a very patient woman.

"I couldn't sleep and I found it when I came down this morning."

Burt reached over and picked up the phone, bringing it to life with a brush of his thumb. He scrolled through something before turning it around and handing the device to her. Carole stared at the tiny screen for a moment, not quite sure what she was seeing. It was a text from Kurt's boyfriend, Blaine. She remembered him as the sweet, charming boy Kurt had brought home not too long ago. It was hard to believe that someone like that could do something so horrible to Kurt. The message had been delivered sometime during Kurt's agonizing hospital stay. It was short. It was simple. And it made her heart stop and her breath catch painfully in her throat the longer she let the words sear into her brain.

_Merry Christmas, babe. I'll see you soon. How about you bring the cider this time? ;)_

So simple. So innocent under ordinary circumstances. But this couldn't be further from ordinary. She set the phone back down on the table, bile burning the back of her throat.

"I couldn't sleep, but I wasn't really awake either. I thought some caffeine might help clear my head. I walked by the phone and it said there was a new message from…from the bastard who did this to him. I shouldn't have touched it; it's Kurt's and all, but…he can't see something like that. He already thinks this whole mess is his fault. And this…It would break him, Carole."

They watched as the screen faded back into darkness from the inactivity. Her hand wound its way into one of his and they both sat and watched the offending machine in the ensuing stillness, waiting for something to happen, neither one quite sure of what to do next.

Burt was the one to speak and break the spell of silence that had settled over them. "I want to find him, Carole," he whispered. His coffee had gone cold. The ceramic barely warmed his fingers now, but he couldn't stand to let go of it. Somehow the familiar curve of the cup set his mind at ease. Snow had begun to fall again outside, dampening the sunlight filtering in through the curtains.

"I want to find the bastard and gut him for what he did to Kurt. For what he did to my boy. How could anyone _do _something like this to someone else? I thought that Blaine kid was all right when Kurt brought him home, but, I mean-he's eaten here, Carole! With us! In this house! I trusted him with my son, and he just…and Kurt…" his eyes wandered over to the basement door. Their boys were still down there, hopefully asleep. "I can't…I can't lose him. I can't let this break him. He's got _so much_ going for him, and then…" His voice petered out into nothing, and Carole could see the first signs of tears coating his eyes. "And then shit like this has to come along and I just don't know how many more punches Kurt can take before he's down for good. I don't know what to do here, and that scares the hell out of me." His eyes shut, face straining with withheld emotion. Carole brought her free hand up to cup his cheek, his morning stubble rough but familiar and comforting against her fingers. "I can't lose him, Carole."

"You're doing all you can. And sometimes, that's enough." She drew his face to hers and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. "Sometimes, that's got to be enough."


	12. Chapter 12

Author's note: So it appears that I will have internet this weekend, but it will be patchy, so here's the next chapter for you. This is probably my favorite part out of everything I've written. Not sure why; I guess I really like the idea of Kurt having a mother figure too much. Enjoy.

* * *

Kurt crept quietly up the stairs from the basement, careful not to wake Finn, and stepped into the kitchen. The linoleum floor was pleasantly cool against his bare feet. He'd been immensely grateful to see Finn still asleep when he'd awoken, not quite ready to face him just yet. The wound was too new, too raw, and he just knew Finn would want to talk about it. He didn't quite know how to handle everything yet, so he tried to push it from his mind, and avoiding Finn was really the best solution for now. He'd understand Kurt's evasion eventually. Finn wasn't usually one for grudges.

He walked past the table and pulled out a glass for himself from one of the cabinets. It was snowing again, he noted absently. A small drift had wedged itself against the screen door behind the blinds. The wind must have kicked up during the night. The quiet thud of the of the bottom of the glass hitting the counter filled the kitchen with sound and Kurt felt a sudden pang of fear. He was alone, but Finn was downstairs if he needed him. His dad and Carole should be upstairs still. But he shouldn't need them. Not now. He was at home. Safe. He was safe. It was okay. _He_ was okay. He slowed his breathing, willed his throbbing heart to cease its fevered beating and fetched the milk carton from the fridge, filling his glass only partway. He desperately needed something to wash the vile sleep/vomit/god-knows-what taste from his mouth. Just as he folded the flaps of the carton shut, a buzzing sound filled his senses. It came and went in sharp, uneven intervals, almost like-

His phone. There, on the table. Someone was trying to call him. He hadn't even noticed it before. He stood there for a moment, milk still in hand, not really wanting to answer but curious about who was on the other end. He could just wait, play it safe, let it go to voicemail and then check, but curiosity eventually won out and he padded over to the table so he could see the name dancing across the screen. His body felt too heavy as he moved, probably an after-effect of his painkillers.

He reached the table and leaned over, trying to read the screen without actually picking the phone up. Maybe Finn had already told people and the old glee club was trying to make sure he wasn't dead. Or maybe they didn't know and only wished to talk to him, get together now that he was home; it could just be Mercedes, wondering what he was up to. He smiled a little at the thought of her. They hadn't spoken much in the past couple of weeks, but he missed her terribly and apparently she him from the emails they sent back and forth. He should give her a call. He peered closer at the flashing screen. The name didn't look like Mercedes; in fact, it looked an awful lot like-the milk carton fell from his fingertips and burst open at his feet. He couldn't move; he couldn't breathe; he couldn't-

"Kurt? Finn? Is that you?"

Carole. She was just upstairs. She'd know what to do. Kurt tried to call out to her but his voice stuck in his throat. There was something large, leaden, blocking it. He tried to swallow, but couldn't. _This isn't happening. _In the back of his mind, he registered a cool sweep of liquid brushing against the bottoms of his bare feet. _The milk. I must have dropped the milk._

Carole found herself moving down the stairs, each one creaking lightly with her weight. She thought she had heard someone moving around downstairs, and it was better to be safe than sorry. It was probably Finn, raiding the fridge or something for breakfast. It couldn't be Burt-she had finally goaded him back upstairs, if nothing else to get a shower in before the boys woke up.

She hadn't really expected to find Kurt awake, let alone standing beside the table in the kitchen, milk carton over-turned and bleeding white onto the floor. He was staring at something. The table-_oh god! _His phone! She raced the last few feet to her almost-son, careful of the liquid spreading across the slick linoleum.

His face was white, his terrified eyes fixed on the buzzing cell phone dancing across the tabletop. She saw the caller ID flash by once before the phone silenced and stilled, the call going to voicemail.

Blaine. The name had been Blaine. Carole was sure of it. She couldn't breathe. She swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat. Kurt hadn't moved, still frozen in place, still staring at the black device on the tabletop.

"Kurt?"

He jumped a little at her voice and she could breathe again. At least he was responsive, a definite step up from last night. "Carole? I'm sorry. I didn't see-oh, shit, I dropped the milk," he said, as if noticing it for the first time. It was odd hearing him curse, she thought absently. She watched him crouch down and retrieve the now mostly empty carton from the floor. "I'll get this. Sorry. I wasn't thinking. I-" she placed her hand on his shoulder and he stilled.

"Are you all right, Kurt?" Her feet were unpleasantly cold from the milk now encasing them, but she paid them little heed.

There were little tremors running through his body into her palm, up her arm. His eyes were locked on the floor. "To be honest, no. No, I don't think I am."

She turned him around and crushed him to her chest. The action sent more milk flying to the floor from the carton still clenched in Kurt's hand. Neither one spoke. The silence was deafening.

"When is it going to stop, Carole? When does it stop hurting?" His voice was so small, so lost, and she felt her heart shatter in her chest.

"I don't know, baby," she whispered into his hair. "I don't know. We just need to keep putting one foot in front of the other until we make it past this. It'll stop sometime, Kurt. It has to."

His empty hand wound around her waist and they stood there in the quiet of the morning, new snow building ice castles on the window frames.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's note: Sorry for my inaccurate police stuff in this and any other chapter that has glaring problems. I've never actually interacted directly with the police and thus have no clue about anything concerning the matter. In other words, be prepared for shoddy police work. Just making sure y'all know in advance. Also, a lot of you are questioning whether or not Blaine did it. Yes. Yes, he did. It is a non-negotiable fact in this story. S'what the prompt called for.

* * *

Finn awoke to the smell of bacon, something he didn't think possible with Kurt in the house. Kid was such a health freak. Oh yeah. Kurt. He glanced over to the bed pressed up against the opposite wall. As much as he hated sharing a room with him, Finn had missed Kurt. Missed him at school, missed him at home, missed him at glee, just plain missed having him around. And then, to find out that his boyfriend from his new school was a creep made the twist of guilt buried in his stomach clench painfully. Finn had really done wrong by Kurt. If only he'd had noticed the bullying sooner. If only he'd actually done something about it when he did find out. _If only he hadn't been one of them_. Then maybe Kurt wouldn't be in this mess.

But Kurt wasn't in bed. Finn frowned. That was odd. Those pills on Kurt's nightstand should have knocked him out for a long time, or perhaps Finn had overslept again? He looked at his alarm clock. Nope. He hadn't overslept. Kurt was gone, though, and Finn was sure he could smell bacon. Maybe everything had been some sort of terrible dream, or maybe he was still dreaming now. He shook his head. It didn't matter. Someone was definitely cooking, Finn was starving, and Kurt wasn't downstairs. The only way to go was up.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he was taken aback by the lightness of the scene. Kurt was helping his mom fix breakfast, a large one by the looks of it. And the bacon hadn't been a dream. Interesting. His mom even had Kurt smiling, laughing at something she said. He felt a surge of pride rush up in his chest. Leave it to his mom to chase the demons away. She'd always known how to make him feel better when it had been just the two of them, so he was glad to see that she could do the same for Kurt.

"Hey, guys." He entered hesitantly with a short wave, not wanting to interrupt anything.

His mom smiled warmly at him. "Hi, honey. Are you hungry? Kurt was helping me with breakfast."

"Uh, yeah. I mean, if you guys are done and all."

Surprisingly, Kurt was the one who answered him. His voice was soft, but even, steady. He didn't look nearly as haggard as he had the night before. "Just about. There are a few things that could use another minute or two."

"Oh, um. Well, I could go get Burt," he suggested awkwardly, not really sure of what to do with himself.

"Why don't you do that?" his mom replied with a smile. "He'll be pleased we're not eating 'rabbit food' for a change." Kurt rolled his eyes with a little smile from his place by the stove.

Finn nodded and padded over toward the stairs. It was kind of surreal, watching that. But he guessed that maybe forgetting about it for a while, pushing the whole thing aside (even if only for a little bit), might help this scab over, might allow them to heal. Yeah. Yeah, they could do this. They had each other.

* * *

It was two days later that Burt got the call. Carole had gone in to work to pick up some paperwork (she was planning on staying home the rest of the day), Finn was with Rachel, and Kurt was at home with Mercedes and that wheelchair kid, Arthur or Abraham or something. Kurt was doing better. He wasn't quite his old self-he jumped at the sound of the telephone ringing or a knock at the door, his cell phone hadn't been touched since it's removal from the kitchen table, and his appearance wasn't quite as crisp as he used to like it-but he was getting there. Having his old friends around him seemed to help, and he said they didn't question anything, for which both father and son were immensely grateful. The normalcy of it all was helping. They could get through this. They had time.

It was not unusual to get calls in to the shop, nor was it unusual for those calls to be placed through to Burt directly. It was, however, unusual for a police officer to be on the other line.

"Hello?"

"Am I speaking to a Mr. Burt Hummel?"

"You are. Can I ask who's calling?"

"My name is Detective McCann. I'm with the Allen County Police Department. I am calling about a police report made by your son Kurt regarding a rape on the night of the 17th."

"Yes. Has something happened?" Burt interrupted.

"We need your son down here at the station for an interview. It's standard procedure. Another statement from him is needed to formalize the report made on the 17th and to verify important details about the night in question." The detective paused for a moment, and Burt thought he could hear papers shuffling on the other end of the line. "We also have located the person he identified as his attacker." Burt felt as though his stomach had dropped down into his feet. _They'd found him. They'd found Blaine_. "Because your son is a minor, we need you present during the interview-you won't be allowed in the room, but you will be able to witness it, as you are the party currently responsible for your son's legal rights. Is this okay? Do you understand everything so far?" The man's voice was smooth, steady and patient, the opposite of the feelings racing through Burt.

"Yeah. Yeah, we'll be down there in about half an hour."

He hung up and stood there for a minute or two, trying to remember how to breathe. Forgetting wasn't an option, no matter how much it seemed to be helping. They had to do this, put this mess behind them. Then they could heal. Then _Kurt_ could heal, and everything would be back to normal.

His hand hung over the phone resting on the cradle for a moment. He hated to do this, hated to disturb Kurt. Especially now that he was with friends. He was probably happy. He took in a deep breath and dialed the number burned deep into his heart. One ring. Two. Maybe Kurt wasn't there. He could always call the detective back and say they'd be a bit later than he'd originally-

"Hello?" No such luck.

"Hey, Kurt. Um, sorry to bug you when your friends are over. Is Carole there?" Avoid the subject for as long as possible. That would make everything better.

"Yeah. She got home a few minutes ago."

"Okay, that's good." _You're not alone. _He let out the breath he'd been holding. "Kurt, I-I just got a call down here at the shop. From the police department." He could hear Kurt suck in a quick breath on the other side. Why was this so difficult? "They need to talk to you-to get another statement or something. They want me there too, so you won't be alone," he said in a rush, the words blurring into each other.

He paused, not really wanting to say what he had to next. He swallowed deeply. "And Kurt…they-they found him. They found Blaine."

Kurt was silent on the other line. "Kurt? Kurt, buddy, say something. I need to know you're still there."

"Yeah, dad. Yeah, I'm still here." His voice was shaky and far too quiet. A cold wave of worry gripped Burt's gut.

"I'm coming home in the next couple of minutes. I need you to get yourself ready to go, okay? Then we can get this over with. It's gonna be okay, son. We'll get through this. And I'll be there with you, all right? We'll get through this together. You're not alone, bud."

Kurt was quiet for a moment before answering. "Okay, dad. I…I'll see you when you get here." And there was nothing. Burt stood there, phone gripped too tightly in his hand. He had to get home.

"Hey, Jerry, do you mind if I book it outta here a little early? Something came up," he called out past the door of his office. He was already grabbing his coat and keys from his desk.

Jerry peered around the side of the car he was working on. Burt was a nice guy, a great boss. His kid wasn't too bad either-a little weird, but he knew his way around a car and that was enough for Jerry. The boys at the garage had been told that Burt's son had ended up in the hospital a few days back, so it was more of a surprise for them to see Burt come in _at all _with how much he loved that kid than for him to show up and leave early.

"Sure thing, boss. She's in good hands with us." He wrung his greasy hands on the rag he held and gave Burt a sloppy salute. Just don't ask what was going on. Burt wasn't very open about his personal life, and that was okay. Certainly made him easier to work for.

Burt grinned at Jerry as he passed, though his heart was pounding in his chest, blood rushing in his ears and drowning out almost all other noise. "What would I ever do without you?" And he was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's note: Winding down toward the end here. I suppose I should go back and add a warning somewhere about language. I've realized I get fairly foul-mouthed at parts as I've gone through and re-read this for editing. Hmm. Ah well, thanks for following me this far! Only a few more chapters to go.

* * *

The police station was oddly cold for how many people there appeared to be. It was like an anthill, each person moving, doing, _being_ for the good of the whole while not touching the lives of anyone else unless absolutely necessary. It was disconcerting.

Detective McCann was a small man who carried himself with all the bearings of a man three times his size. He made Burt uneasy. At least he wasn't the one conducting the interview.

They'd placed Kurt in a small, bare room with a two-sided mirror. Burt could see the anxiety painted across his son's frame. "This won't take long, will it?"

McCann was curt, but polite. "No, sir. This shouldn't take long at all. We're just trying to fill in a few gaps in Kurt's story with this recorded statement.." He gestured to the blinking camera in the corner of the room.

Burt grunted, but relented, staring through the mirror/window/whatever and staring at his son's face as the other detective sat down. A woman, he noticed. She looked nice, safe. Kurt might be more at ease talking to her.

He didn't want to watch this, didn't want to hear this again, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. He couldn't do that to Kurt. He listened to his son stumble over his fractured recollection of the event. Kurt could only string together the tiny pieces of the event he could find in the back of his memory- he barely remembered waking up in Blaine's room, barely remembered his stained underwear, barely remembered his stumbling journey off Dalton's premises, barely remembered his garbled confession in the car. The haze of drugs and time had blurred the pictures together in his head, and it was clear in Burt's head as Kurt staggered through his story. He clearly remembered the pain, though: the pain the assault had left behind in his head, in his body, in his heart, and Burt found it hard to look at his son's tearful face. He didn't want to hear this.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it was over. The officers then wanted to talk to Burt, and Kurt was left sitting in the hallway clutching a cup of steaming tea given to him by that nice lady cop. They said they wouldn't keep his dad long, just needed to go over some legal something-or-other, and Kurt was left in a less trafficked area of the station. He should be okay. They'd be done soon. Then he could go home and forget for a little while. Bury the shame. His eyes burned as he stared at the dull concrete floor. He really, really wanted to go home.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Kurt recognized those shoes, the lilt of the voice. He looked up, heart racing to get out of his chest_. Blaine_.

"You haven't been answering my calls or responding to my texts. That's pretty rude, babe. I thought something terrible had happened to you."

Oh god, it really was Blaine. Standing there. In the station. Just _standing_ there in jeans and a green button-down shirt. Kurt looked around nervously. There wasn't anyone else there. Where the hell were the cops?

"What do you want?" he hissed, fingers grinding into the cardboard cup of his tea, it's warmth no longer comforting. He couldn't look at that charming face. Not anymore. Not without seeing a monster.

"What do I want?" he leaned down. Kurt could feel the other boy's breath hot on his face. "I want you, Kurt. Isn't that obvious? And really, it's not my fault that you're such a prude. So much for outward appearances." He straightened with a snort.

"You shouldn't be here. How the hell are you here? You-you should be rotting away somewhere where I won't ever see you again." His voice kept rising in volume and pitch. He could feel heat rising into his cheeks, staining them with color. _Oh god, how could this be happening? _He just wanted to put this whole thing to rest, put this ugliness behind him, but it just kept coming back to spit in his face.

Blaine didn't move. His face was blank as he stared down at the smaller boy. "You've just got to know the right people, babe. I didn't do anything to you that you didn't want me to." His eyes narrowed with scrutiny when Kurt blanched. "Don't deny it; you were gagging for it, wanted it just as bad as I did. I just sped things up is all."

Kurt flew to his feet, throwing the hot tea to the floor where the cup exploded in a wave of scalding liquid over their shoes. "You _raped_ me, Blaine! You brought me up to your room, put something in my drink, and you raped me! How the hell can you justify that?" His face was red, eyes burning, tears streaming down his face.

"Not according to the courts, I didn't. Just watch, you've got nothing against me, Hummel." His voice was cold and quiet. "Everything that happened that night was purely consensual. Face it-you wanted it. And I gave it to you."

Kurt's racing mind couldn't find the words to speak. His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. His chest felt too tight. He couldn't breathe. Where was his dad? Where was that terrifying little cop who had led him out here? The nice one who'd given him the tea? _Why wasn't anyone doing anything?_

Blaine stepped closer to him and whispered into his hair, far too close for comfort but never actually touching him. "Give up, Kurt. I've got some serious friends in high places. I _own _you now, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Kurt could feel himself trembling. He just wanted to throw up, to run away, to go back to this morning with Artie and Mercedes and put this whole thing behind him. He wanted his old boyfriend back, the one who'd wooed him with gentle encouragements and cheesy love songs. He wanted his room back at Dalton, or his room in the basement at home, even with Finn's ugly new décor. He wanted to run back to McKinley and Mr. Shue and the rest of the New Directions glee club. He wanted the slushie facials and dumpster dives and bruises from being shoved into hallway lockers. He'd even take Karofsky's dangerously sexual bullying if it would get him away from right here, right now. He really wanted his dad. He wanted things back the way they were, before everything became so fucked up. He just wanted to curl up in some dark corner and die.

"You son of a bitch."


	15. Chapter 15

His dad. His dad was there. Kurt wanted to sink to the floor in relief and shame. He was so weak-he couldn't stand up for himself; he couldn't even push his rapist away, couldn't defend himself. But his dad was there. His dad would keep him safe.

"You get the hell away from my son."

Blaine stepped back with his hands raised in submission as Burt Hummel approached like a mad ox gearing up for a fight.

"I didn't touch him."

His dad's face was purpling with rage as he approached, and Kurt felt his heart leap into his throat. They couldn't do this. They couldn't have this confrontation. Not here, not now.

He gripped his dad's arm, holding him back. "Please, dad. Just let it go."

"Kurt, if you think I'm gonna let this, this _punk_, this worthless excuse of space, get away with everything he's done to you-"

"Not here, dad. Not now. I can't…I can't…" His voice broke. He tugged back on his dad's arm. "Please, dad, can we just go home? Please?" He was nearly sobbing with desperation now. _This wasn't happening._

Burt sucked in a deep breath and backed away. He could feel his anger ebbing with Kurt's growing panic, and his desire to comfort his son was outweighing his desire to kill Blaine. He pulled Kurt closer to him and turned to the pair of police officers standing behind them, pointing an accusing finger in their direction.

"You! Why the hell haven't you done anything? That _boy_," his hand swung wildly in Blaine's direction, "is the one who hurt my son! Why isn't he in a holding cell, or, or _something?_ How in the hell is he just _standing_ there, like nothing happened?"

The woman cop approached him slowly, cautious of his anger. "Calm down, Mr. Hummel. This is still in the investigative stages. We haven't formally charged Mr. Mitchell with anything yet, and in this country, you're innocent until proven guilty, not the other way around."

"How is he not guilty? _Everything is there_. You have all the evidence you need. You're just too blind to see it. My son was drugged and raped by him and you're doing nothing!" His breathing was growing ragged. _How could this be happening? What in the hell was going on?_

Kurt tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. "Dad," he pleaded, voice quiet. He'd rubbed off the remaining tears from his cheeks with his sleeve, but his face was still discolored. "Dad. Can we…I want to go home."

Burt took in a deep breath and calmed himself. He turned an icy glare to the pair of stunned detectives. "You'd better have something on him and soon. I refuse to put up with this bullshit any longer," he hissed venomously before turning on his heel and leading Kurt out the door.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel, but all of the tests came back inconclusive."

"What do you mean, _inconclusive? _You people did the exam!"

"There were some problems with your son's rape kit; we think that parts of it may have been contaminated, and we-"

"That isn't my son's fault! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"If you could please calm down, Mr. Hummel-"

"No! I want to know how the hell this could happen! Who's responsible for this? This is my _son _we're talking about! What kind of-" Kurt didn't hear any more. He turned up the volume on his iPod so loud it hurt a little and hummed along to the melody blasting in his ears. This song really shouldn't be played at this volume but he didn't want to listen to his dad screaming himself hoarse anymore. This had been a regular occurrence since the incident at the police station and Kurt was tired of it all.

He was tired of this mess and the havoc it had wrecked on both his body and mind. He was tired of his dad fighting a losing battle. He was tired of jumping at shadows and clinging to walls when nobody was around. He was tired of seeing Blaine's face in his dreams. He was tired of all the hurt, of all the pain this entire fiasco had caused Finn, Carole, his dad. He was tired and really just wanted it all to end.

He fingered his new phone on his lap-the number had been changed, and so far Blaine had yet to find it. He didn't dare try calling the house phone. Kurt was safe for the time-being.

Perhaps he should call Mercedes, or Tina, or Artie, or Brittany, or _somebody_ to get him out of the house. He loved his dad, he really did, but the last couple of days had left the whole place ringing with his shouting over the unfairness of the justice system. This mishap with his test results would only add fuel to the fire.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality and he jumped, just a little, at the touch. It was Finn. He waved and motioned for Kurt to take out his headphones, which he did, if a bit hesitantly. Finn had been walking on eggshells since Kurt had come home and it was starting to irritate him. He wasn't made of glass. He could handle this.

"Uh, hey. Sorry if I'm interrupting anything." Finn was awkward, his speech halting, like he was completely unsure of what to say.

"Spit it out, Finn. It can't be any worse than what's going on upstairs," he said with a sad smile. His dad's angry voice could still be heard through the walls, echoing in the quiet of the basement.

"Yeah." Finn sat down next to Kurt on his bed and was silent for a moment. "Uh, hey, listen. Puck just texted me. He wants to hang out over at Mike's place for a while. You know, relax, play some video games, whatever, and he asked about you. Said they'd even invite some of the girls along if you wanted, and we could turn it into some sort of glee party." He looked at Kurt through the side of his eye. "We're all pretty worried about you, dude."

Kurt sighed deeply before turning his eyes to the ceiling. Was he ready to face everybody from New Directions? No. Was he ready to do just about anything to get out of the house? Yes. And Finn would be there. And Puck. And whomever else if he wanted them. He'd be safe. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Tell him to ask if Mike's okay with everybody being there. I just want to get out of here for a little bit."

Finn shot him a tiny smile. "Sure thing, man. You might not be a McKinley kid anymore, but we still got your back."

He turned to Finn, a grin lifting the corners of his lips. "Thanks, Finn. I don't think you know how much that means to me."

"Anytime, dude. We're brothers now. That's what brothers do, you know? Stick up for each other and all that."

"Of course. Oh, and Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't call me 'dude.'"


	16. Chapter 16

Author's note: Almost to the end, guys. I hope you've enjoyed the ride thus far. Thanks for sticking with me this long and putting up with my tiny little chapters.

* * *

"Kurt? Are you down there? I need to talk to you." Burt's voice echoed down the stairway into the basement, the only sound in the house.

"Yeah, dad. I'll be up in just a minute." Kurt placed a neatly folded slip of paper between the pages of his book and sighed. It was a decent book, he supposed, some cheesy whirlwind romance that he'd gotten from Tina as a Christmas present. She thought he'd appreciate it. It wasn't the best thing in the world, but if nothing else, it was something to take his mind off of things. Anything to take him away from his current reality was a good enough gift in his book, even if the heroine was a whiny little twit and her love interest was kind of a jerk. Perfect for one another. He placed it on his bed, stretched, and made his way up the stairs, thankful he no longer needed the pills lounging in the little orange bottle on his nightstand for the simple task. They did help him get to sleep, though-helped keep the shadowy faces haunting his dreams at bay.

His father was sitting at the kitchen table and the smell of coffee was strong in the air, though his dad didn't appear to have any. Probably brewing some then.

He looked weary, oddly aged, and Kurt felt guilt twist his stomach into a knot. This whole mess had been really hard on his dad, and they hadn't yet found any way to fix it. The hospital had messed up his kit, and any evidence left behind had been deemed worthless. All those samples, his bloodwork, his stained uniform, all thrown out. Worthless. The police refused to do anything, claiming that there wasn't enough evidence. Kurt supposed they were right-all they had to go on was a contaminated rape kit, their prime suspect claiming consent, and his own fractured recollection of what happened. And what did it matter anyway? It was just two gay kids experimenting in small town Ohio before they had to go home to their parents for the holidays, and one just happened to cry foul. He'd seen the looks they'd given him at the hospital, at the police station. What self-respecting boy has sex with another boy? What self-respecting boy allows himself to get raped, of all things? Couldn't happen. Not here, not anywhere. Especially not with whom he was accusing as his rapist. Blaine with the smooth, smooth words. Blaine with the million dollar smile. Blaine with the bottomless pocket book. Boys here fought back, but who wouldn't want to be had by someone like Blaine? No wonder no one believed him.

"Dad? You wanted to talk to me?" He was cautious, uncertain as he walked into the room.

Burt just nodded, and Kurt began to worry at his father's continued silence. Something was wrong. He carefully made his way over to one of the chairs, his socked feet shuffling lightly on the smooth linoleum. It was warmer up here than in the basement, so his sweater seemed a bit excessive. It was old-one of his dad's-and the sleeves were a bit too long. He pulled the worn hem over his fingers, worrying at the fraying seams. Sure, it was unflattering and falling apart, but it felt like _home_ and that was what mattered. He couldn't bear to throw it out just yet.

Burt was a bit startled to see Kurt wearing that old sweater but didn't question it. The last time he'd seen Kurt wear it had been eight years ago, when his mother had passed. He'd pilfered it from Burt's closet after he'd come home late one night not too long after the funeral; there had been an overload of work to be done at the garage and if Burt had been honest with himself, he hadn't been all too keen to be going home anyway, even if his young son needed him. He'd found Kurt asleep on the couch when he got home, wrapped up in that old sweater like a blanket, like it was a lifeline keeping him grounded to reality. He had looked so small in the endless waves of worn out fabric, and Burt had never taken it back, couldn't bear to. He hadn't known that Kurt still even owned the damn thing. He still looked far too small in it, though the sleeves only just passed over his fingertips. He'd never fill out the shoulders, but he would fit the rest of it soon if he hit his growth spurt in a reasonable space of time.

His dad cleared his throat and Kurt looked up at him, trying to meet his eyes. "So Kurt, I talked to Carole this morning before she took off with Finn." Carole had taken Finn to his aunt's house that morning for some sort of annual holiday get-together whose very mention had Finn turning a little green. She'd promised to be back that afternoon, not pleased about going but not wanting to start some sort of terrible feud with her once sister-in-law. Tradition was tradition, after all. "School is starting up again soon."

Kurt felt his heart stop for a second at those words. School. He hadn't thought about that. With the holidays, being home again, having time and space to get over this, going back had completely escaped his mind. He'd have to go back to Dalton and Blaine and _oh god,_ he hadn't thought about this_._

Burt saw his son's face go pale and his heart broke a little. Kurt hadn't thought about this. "We discussed this this morning, Kurt-Carole and I-and we thought it would be best to talk to you first before we decided on anything." He pulled in a deep breath to steady himself. He met Kurt's eyes and held them. "You don't have to go back. We went over it this morning, and yeah, it'll hurt the pocketbook a bit for a few months, but I don't want you going back to Dalton."

Kurt felt terribly hurt at that. He couldn't do this, couldn't make this decision right now. He didn't want to go back to Dalton; he wasn't safe there and he knew it. But he couldn't do this to his family, _to his dad_. He couldn't be so selfish in needing the transfer in the first place only to waste all that money on tuition to go back to McKinley or some other school. His dad and Carole had given up their_ honeymoon _so he could go to this stupid school; he couldn't just back out now. Not even after this. He wasn't worth it.

"I-" he started, voice catching a bit. Oh god, he didn't want to do this. "I should go back."

He saw his dad straighten, rigid in his seat, readying himself for a fight. "Let me speak first, dad. Please…just, just hear me out." He looked imploringly at him, waiting for a chance to speak. Burt settled back, upset, but willing to listen before he spoke up again.

Kurt sighed and looked at his folded hands on the tabletop. He was shaking. "I-I don't _want_ to go back. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I can't just back away from this, dad. You all have sacrificed so much for me, and I can't do this to you. _I can't._ It just-it isn't fair."

"Kurt, this has nothing to do with money or anything like that. You don't owe us anything. This is about your _safety_, son. I can't put you in jeopardy." He was quiet for a moment before leaning back in his chair and sighing deeply. He stood and moved around the counter to get himself a mug down from the cabinet. He looked back; Kurt was hunched over, looking on the verge of tears. He sighed again. No one ever told him this was going to be so _hard._ "Do you want anything, Kurt? Like some coffee or something?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice." He lifted his gaze to the screen door. The snow hadn't really been all that bad since the incident, but it was getting colder and wetter. Maybe they'd have snow for the new year.

Burt placed a steaming mug in front of Kurt. "I put a little milk in there. No sugar. That's how you like it, right?"

Kurt nodded with a tiny smile, hands moving to wrap around the blue mug in front of him. He couldn't look at his dad. "It isn't just about money to me either, dad."

Burt sat down and said nothing, waiting for Kurt to continue. "I can't run away again. Not this time. Not yet. Everyone is already on his side about this." _Who wouldn't take Blaine's side? He was something, somebody. Not like Kurt, strange little nobody Kurt. _He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. "It's not about looking weak or strong or any of that either. It's _my_ battle, and I've got to fight it this time. I can't let someone else do it for me, and I can't run away. At least until the year is up. It's not fair otherwise. I have to fight this." _I can't keep living this way. I can't keep holding on to my fear. I've got to face this._

Burt moved his hand to grasp Kurt's arm. The sweater was rough and warm under his fingers. "It's your choice, Kurt, but I think this is a mistake. I can't have you hurt again."

Kurt stared into the brown swirl of his coffee. The milk was chasing away the clarity of the liquid, giving it a filmy, semi-opaque quality. He was hurting his dad again. So stupid. He couldn't do anything right.

"Kurt, look at me." Kurt raised his eyes and locked them with his father's grey ones. Why was this so hard? Why was everything so hard? "If this is what you really want to do, I won't stop you. But you're calling home whenever you can, okay? And if there's anything that you're uncomfortable with, _anything_ at all, don't you dare hesitate to call me or Carole or even Finn, and we'll be up there faster than you can blink. Especially if he tries anything, you got me, Kurt?"

Kurt nodded, eyes stinging. Burt pulled his son to him and they sat there in the stillness of the kitchen, neither one daring to move. "You gotta promise me you'll be okay, bud. I can't…I'm not strong enough for this, Kurt. I can't lose you too."

Outside, snow began to fall.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's note: Posted a bit early because I need something other than German prepositions to look at for a while. Y'all are going to hate me for this part. One chapter to go. Enjoy.

* * *

Move-in had officially started three days ago, but Kurt wanted to put going back to campus off as long as he possibly could. He didn't want to go back into that building, climb those steps, pretend he was okay, pretend nothing happened. He didn't know if he'd be able to face his roommate or the members of the Warblers. He didn't know if he could look at his room, those hallways, this _place _the same way again. So he found himself standing on the snow-crusted ground outside the dorms, clutching his bag so hard his fingertips had gone white. He was okay. He could do this. He had a new uniform in his bag; he had his new phone; his dad was just a phone call away. He'd refused to be escorted here this morning; he could do this. He would be fine. Five months, starting now. He would be going home on weekends. There would be breaks. He could do this.

And yet he couldn't get his feet to move. Why was this so hard?

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, steeling himself. He could do this. Hummels never backed down from a challenge. He started forward, light layers of snow and ice crunching beneath his feet. He was completely unprepared for the arm slung around his shoulders the moment he stepped through the door.

"Kurt! My man. We were wondering when you were gonna show up. How was the holiday for you?"

He froze before looking at the hand peeking out from the distinctive red and black sleeve of the Dalton uniform. Not Blaine. Wrong skin color. Too dark. His eyes traveled up to the smiling face beside him. He deflated a bit with relief. _David_. It was only David. He was okay. He needed to stop being so flighty. Of course it wasn't Blaine. It wouldn't matter if it was anyway. He was being stupid. He could do this.

"Uh, fine. It was fine." His voice was too quiet, too timid. _Stupid_. Man up, Kurt.

David didn't seem to take notice. "So, I got some juicy news over the break from your man over there." He gestured with his thumb to the common area just down the hall. Blaine was there. Just standing there. Talking to Wes and a few other boys, some of whom Kurt recognized as Warblers, others he didn't. He wasn't looking this way, but _oh god Blaine was there and he couldn't avoid this forever._ Kurt felt his chest tighten; he couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe?

"O-Oh? What did he-what did he say?" he asked, not really paying attention. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene down the hall. How could Blaine just stand there smiling, talking, laughing like everything was normal? Like nothing had happened? Like he hadn't ruined Kurt's life? Kurt tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. He could do this. He knew it would be difficult when he decided to come back. He could do this. _He had to do this_.

David slapped Kurt's shoulder with his other hand, laughing. "Oh, come on, man. You think we wouldn't know when you and B over there finally got around to it? Slow and steady wins the race and all that, but dang! I mean, with the way you two were all over each other, it was only a matter of time. So, how was it for you? I don't really want details, but how does it feel to be a man of experience?"

Kurt stiffened. The warmth of the building fled from his body like running water. It was no longer comforting. He needed to get outside. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't breathe.

"What?" He tore his eyes away from the boys down the hall to stare incredulously at David. His voice was barely above a whisper. "What did you say?"

"I'm congratulating you, man! There's no need to be shy about it. We all knew it was gonna happen sooner or later. And according to Blaine, you two didn't just get to third base, you hit a home run." He winked at the shorter boy. "And on the day before you guys left, too. I wondered if that's why you wanted to stay behind so long. That's intense, man. Did you spend New Years with him? Cuddle up close by the fire?" He nudged Kurt's shoulder suggestively.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god. He told them He __**told**__ them! He fucking bragged about it!_ Kurt drew in a gasping breath and hunched over. He couldn't breathe. _He couldn't breathe!_

"Kurt? You okay?" There was worry laced in David's tone.

_Oh god, this wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening._ His breathing grew more and more ragged. He was wrong. He couldn't do this. He needed to get out here, go home. He needed his dad. He-David. He was yelling something, but Kurt couldn't hear him over the rushing in his ears. Oh god, the boys from the other room. They were coming over. Blaine was coming over. _Blaine was coming over._ He couldn't do this. _Why the hell did he think he could do this? _He needed to go home. Right now.

Kurt tore himself from David's grasp and ran faster than he ever had in his life out of the building, out into the snow. He couldn't do this. He needed his dad. Oh god, he couldn't do this. He needed to go home.

He reached his car barely paused to fumble with his keys, throwing his bag into the car with a loud thump. _Oh god, oh god, oh god, why did he think he could do this?_ He should have listened to his dad.

He drove like a madman, heedless of ice, snow, other drivers. Dalton grew smaller and smaller in his mirrors. He drove faster than he ever had in his life. He didn't care. He needed his dad. He needed to get home. He really, _really_ needed to get home. He didn't see the [patch of ice or the tree until it was nearly on top of him, rushing up to meet him. He didn't see a thing until it was too late. He knew it was coming, and he found it hard to care.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's notes: Well, this is the end, guys. I don't have any more written and there probably won't be any more for this one. Thanks for following me on this crazy ride (you guys have given me some awesome feedback), and I hope this was a satisfying read.

* * *

As much as he wanted it to happen, expected it to happen, Burt hadn't really been planning on receiving a call from Kurt so soon; he'd thought it would take until some time that evening and then Kurt would be home for good and they could deal with the mess that was school later when he pieced Kurt back together again. He was more than a little frightened to feel the subtle buzzing in his shirt pocket not two hours after Kurt had left. Something had happened. Something had gone wrong. He felt his gut clench at seeing Kurt's number flash across the screen of his cell phone. He'd known it was going to happen. He'd known it was a mistake to send Kurt back. But he'd let him go anyway. Some father he was, letting his son walk back into the lion's den. Should've known better. Should've put his foot down. Should've protected him.

"Can you guys handle the shop for a while? Something's happened to Kurt." he said with a flurry of motion as he grabbed his coat and keys from his desk. He didn't wait for a response before heading out into the cold January morning. He hastily pressed 'send,' connecting him to Kurt, even as he slid into the driver's seat of his car, tense and ready for a fight if need be. The engine purred to life beneath his fingers. Kurt was still able to call him; that had to be a good sign, right?

"Kurt? Kurt, what happened? Are you okay?" No response, just some moderately labored breathing.

"Kurt? Bud, you're scaring me. Where are you?"

"Dad?" He sounded breathy, far too quiet.

"Kurt! What's going on? Are you okay? Do you need me to come get you?"

He could hear Kurt let out a choked sob on the other end. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought I could do this. Oh god, I'm so sorry." He was quiet and pleading and Burt wanted to cry and punch something until he couldn't feel anything anymore.

"Kurt, I need you to calm down. Where are you? Are you in the car?"

He got a few shaky breaths in response, almost like sobbing. "Kurt. I _really_ need you to calm down. I need you to talk to me," he said in the most calming voice he could manage in the wake of his rising panic. "You're scaring me, bud. I need to know, are you okay?"

Kurt sobbed a little on the other end. "N-no. I think I'm bleeding." There was a pause. Burt didn't dare to breathe. _Oh god, how could I let this happen? How could I do this to my son?_ Kurt sounded uncertain when he spoke again, voice hitching. "Yeah, it's all over the dash."

Burt's heart stopped. Not what he expected. Oh god. What the hell was going on? "Kurt, where are you? I need to know where you are. Do you need an ambulance or something?" Nothing. Burt felt panic grip him and his throat tightened. "Kurt? Damn it. Kurt, are you there?"

"Y-yeah, I'm here. I…I'm not sure where I am. I think I hit something." There was a tiny moan of devastation. "Oh god, the car's a wreck." He sounded a little calmer now, though still incredibly shaky. "My head hurts."

Burt bit out a breathy curse and pulled out of the lot, starting on the familiar route to Dalton. Okay. A car accident. Actually, that was not so okay, but he could deal with that a lot easier than sex and fear and boys and attacks. It was familiar territory, at least. Kurt had to be somewhere along this stretch of road. Burt tried to steady his racing heart. He had to find Kurt. He couldn't get him help if he didn't know where he was. "Kurt? Kurt, are you still there? I need you to keep talking to me. Can you tell me what happened?"

Kurt didn't speak right away, but Burt could hear the stop and go pants of his breath. He was still there. He was probably still awake. "O-okay, I think I can…I think I can do that," he whispered. He went quiet for a moment.

"Kurt?"

"Sorry! Sorry, I was trying to remember. My head hurts. I-I was fine. Everything was okay. I thought…I thought I could handle it, but he was _there,_ and everyone _knew_, and I just-I couldn't handle it. I'm sorry, dad, I just-"

"Wait, what do you mean, everyone knew?"

"He _told_ people, dad. They think I _wanted _it, _instigated _it, even." Instigated. Large word. Kurt must be more coherent now. Tiny little flakes of snow rushed past the windshield like static. Where was the damn Navigator?

"Dad?"

He startled a bit, his concentration now broken at the hurt sound of Kurt's voice. "Yeah, Kurt. I'm still here. Just got distracted for a second. Keep talking to me; I'm right here listening."

"You don't think I wanted it, do you?"

Burt's heart broke, shattered into a million tiny pieces. "No, Kurt. No. That _animal, _he-he hurt you. He hurt you real bad. How could I ever think you wanted something like that to happen to you?"

Kurt was quiet on the other end. "I know I haven't been the greatest dad in the world, especially after Carole and Finn came into the picture, but you gotta know that I love you, Kurt. I don't ever want to see you hurt, you got that? Never." He could the faint black outline of Kurt's car hugging the trunk of a rather impressive birch, nose caved in.

"Kurt, bud, you still with me?" Silence.

"Kurt?" No response. Shit.

He hastily ended the call and sent for an ambulance, spitting out the information as fast as he could to the operator. He pulled over to the shoulder and tossed his phone onto the other seat, not even bothering to hang up. God, it was cold out. He rushed over to the other car. Kurt was slumped against the door, head resting on the window. Spiderweb cracks inched their way up the glass, thin and silvery until they converged into a bulls-eye where they went stark white where they weren't spattered with blood. Kurt's blood. Burt's heart leapt into his throat. _Oh god, Kurt was hurt. Kurt was bleeding and he wasn't responding. Oh god, he can't be dead. He has to be okay. Please let him be okay._

Burt ran around to the other side, afraid of hurting Kurt worse by opening the driver's door and having the unresponsive boy spill out onto the road. He flung open the passenger-side door. The airbags had deployed, spraying what looked like white dust everywhere. It clung to the seats like the snow falling just outside. Damn but it was cold.

Kurt moved-_he moved!-_to look at his dad, an expression of dazed surprise and confusion written on his face. "Dad? Is that you?" Kurt looked at the phone in his hands. "I guess I…I think I fell asleep. I'm sorry, dad, I-oh god, my head hurts." His empty hand was pressed up into his hair, blood caked beneath his fingernails.

His eyes looked kind of funny and he was bleeding somewhere near the temple and his face was painted in white and red like some sort of macabre playing card, but he was responsive, he was talking, _he was okay_ for now, and they could do this. They could get through this. Burt climbed into the car and placed his hands on his son's face. There were tear tracks there and the blood was warm on his hands, but oh god, Kurt was _alive_ and talking and they could do this. They could get through this. Burt didn't know how they would do it or how long it would take, but Hummels never gave up without a fight. He would help Kurt climb this mountain and they would get through this. They had to.

He pulled his son as best he could to his chest, careful of his wound and the seatbelt digging into the crisp fabric of his school uniform, trying to give him a bit of warmth as sirens broke the quiet spell of the snow.


End file.
